Lust and Trust
by deepwater1978
Summary: I knew better than to risk my heart. But fierce passion comes at a high price. And from the moment we touch—the passion between us consuming us both—I know that I will never be the same.
1. Chapter 1

_MYSTIC FALLS 2017_

Elena Gilbert knew she couldn't run. She couldn't hide. She could only continue as she was—hurtling at over a hundred miles per hour on a collision course with a destiny she thought she had escaped ten years ago. And with the man she had left behind.

A man she told herself she no longer wanted—but couldn't deny that she desperately needed.

He was even more magnificent now than he was ten years ago. The brashness of youth had been replaced by a mature confidence. He was Jason and Hercules and Perseus—a figure so strong and beautiful and heroic that the blood of the gods must flow through him, because how else could a being so fine exist in this world? His face consisted of hard lines and angles that seem sculpted by light and shadows, making him appear both classically gorgeous and undeniably unique. His dark hair absorbed the light as completely as a raven's wing, but it was not nearly as smooth. Instead, it looked wind-tossed, as if he had spent the day at sea. His eyes were so blue and deep you could drown in them.

He was dressed in an expensive tuxedo. His cuff links gleaming. He exuded determination and confidence but in Elena's eyes, she saw even more.

She saw sensuality and sin. Power and seduction. She saw a man with his shirt collar open, his tie hanging loose. A man completely at home in his own skin, who commanded a room simply by entering it.

Elena saw the man who wanted her.

She saw the man who terrified her.

Damon Salvatore.

Immediately, her chest tightened and a current of electricity zinged across her skin.

She remembered the way his skin felt as it brushed hers. She even remembered his scent, wood and musk and a hint of something smoky.

Most of all, Elena remembered the way he made her feel. And now, here back in Mystic Falls she couldn't deny the current of excitement that ran through her, simply from the prospect of seeing him again.

And that, of course, was what scared her.

At twenty-eight, Elena was more than a successful businesswoman: she had become the chief executive officer of Gilbert International five years ago after her father Grayson Gilbert had suffered a massive heart attack. The necessity and desperation after her father's sudden deterioration in health had driven her to take risks and defy the odds in order to keep the family together. Timing and luck had propelled the family far beyond their modest hopes. And in the end, she had managed to keep their multimillion-dollar family business running smoothly.

Several months ago, she had noticed a small article in the Virginia Times discussing the tourism in Richmond. There wasn't any other information, but she had taken the article to John Gilbert, the vice president of Gilbert International.

"The land in Dunham Lake might be up for sale, and if so, I figured we should act fast," she had said, handing him the article. They were moving briskly down the corridor toward a conference room where no less than twelve banking executives from three different countries waited with Lorenzo (aka Enzo) St John, Gilbert's attorney, for the commencement of a long-planned tax and investment strategy meeting.

"I think Dunham Lake is the potential site for a couples of resort in Richmond," she continued, "this is a real potential. I can see the Dunham Lake becoming a popular holiday retreat for families."

John handed the article back to her. "I trust your judgement, Elena. Your projects in the last few years were successful. Draw up a business plan and we will go from there."

Go from there had led in a more or less straight line directly to this moment. Elena was officially in charge of the resort at Dunham Lake. In her mind, Dunham Lake was hers. The land, the lake, and all the potential that went with it.

But she received a bad news yesterday.

"What happened?" Elena asked when she saw Enzo's grimed expression.

Enzo took a deep breath, and spilled the news he had hanging on to. "Wes Maxfield pulled out of the project this morning."

He could see the change in Elena's face immediately. The quick flash of shock followed by anger, then immediately replaced with steely determination. Beside her, Bonnie Bennett, Elena's assistant wasn't nearly so controlled.

"Wes? But he's been nothing but enthusiastic. Why on earth would he want to quit?"

"Not want to," Enzo clarified. "Has. Done. He is gone."

For a moment, Elena just stared at him. "Gone?"

"Apparently, he has moved to Dubai."

Elena's eyes widen almost imperceptibly. "Has he?"

"He' had sold his property, shut down his firm, and told his attorney to let his clients know that he has decided to spend the rest of his life in Dubai."

"Damn it," Elena said with fury. "What the hell is he thinking?"

Both Bonnie and Enzo understood her anger. This was Elena's project, and Wes had managed to screw them all. The Resort at Dunham Lake might be a Gilbert property, but that didn't mean that it was fully financed by Gilbert International. They had worked their tails off over the last three months pulling together a who's who of investors—and every single one of them named two reasons they were committed to the project: Wes's reputation as an architect, and Gilbert International's reputation as a successful developer.

She grimaced "All right then, so we handle this. If his attorney is notifying clients today, the press will get wind of it soon, and everything is going to unravel fast."

Just the thought made her skin feel clammy, because this project belonged to her. She conceived it, she pitched it, and she had worked her ass off to get it off the ground. It was more than a resort to her. She had to keep this project alive. And, dammit, she would keep it alive.

Even if that meant approaching the one man she swore she would never see again.

"We need a plan in place," Enzo said. "A definitive course of action to present to the investors."

Elena was relieved to know Enzo had come up with a plan. "And you have a suggestion already. Good. Let's hear it."

"The investors were impressed by Wes's reputation and his portfolio," Enzo said. "But that's not something we can replicate in another architect." As the moving force behind some of the most impressive and innovative buildings in modern history, Wes Maxfield was a bona fide star architect—an architect with both the skill and celebrity status to ensure a project's success.

"So, I suggest we present the one man who by all accounts is poised to meet or surpass Wes's reputation." Enzo passed the magazine to her.

Elena went still. "Damon Salvatore."

"He has the experience, the style, the reputation. He is not just a rising star in the field—with Wes out of the picture, I think it is fair to say that he is the new crown prince. And that's not all. Because even more so than Wes, Salvatore has the kind of celebrity appeal that this project can use. The sort of publicity potential that will not only excite the investors, but will be a huge boon when we market the resort to the public."

"Is that so?" Bonnie said, her voice oddly flat.

Enzo saw her caught Elena's eyes, and couldn't help but wonder at the quick look that passed between the two women.

"Read the article," Enzo urged, determined to prove his point. "Not only is there a rumour that the story surrounding one of his projects is going to be adapted into a feature film, but they have already produced a documentary on him and that museum he did last year in Munich."

"I know," Elena said. "It is premiering at the Mystic Falls theatre tonight."

"Yes," Enzo said eagerly. "Are you going? We could talk to him there."

"Elena isn't a fan of theatre stuff," Bonnie said flatly.

"It's a red-carpet event," Enzo pressed. "This guy has celebrity sparkle all the way. We need him on our team. And the article also says that he is looking to open a satellite office in Mystic Falls which suggests that he is trying to move more into the Richmond market."

"Damon Salvatore isn't the only name in the pot," Bonnie said.

"No," Enzo agreed. "But right now, he's the only one with a serious spotlight on him. More than that, I have already looked into the few others who might appeal to the investors, and none have current availability. Salvatore does. I didn't present Salvatore as a possible architect in the original development plan because he was committed for the next six months to a project in Dubai."

"Then we should find another candidate." Elena couldn't help but feel grateful that Damon was unavailable. "I'm sure we can find another good architect."

"The Dubai project fell through," Enzo continued. "Political and financial issues, I guess. It's all outlined in the article. I did some quick research, and I don't believe Salvatore has another green-lit project, but it won't stay that way for long. Damon Salvatore can save the Dunham Lake resort. Please trust me when I tell you that I wouldn't suggest him if I didn't absolutely believe that."

"I believe it, too," Elena said. "And I agree with your assessment of the situation. If we don't get Damon Salvatore on board right away, we will lose our investors. The only other way to keep the project alive is if Gilbert International fully fund the project, either using corporate assets or my family l funds." She drew in a breath. "Enzo," she said gently, "that's not the way Gilbert International do business."

"I know. Of course I know that. That's why I'm suggesting we approach Salvatore. This is a high-profile project—exactly the kind of thing that he is focusing on these days. He will sign on. Everything about it is what he is looking for."

Once again, Elena and Bonnie shared a look.

"I'm sorry," Enzo said. "But is there something I don't know?"

"Damon Salvatore has no interest in working for Gilbert International," Bonnie said, after a brief hesitation.

"He—what?" Enzo's eyes widened. It took a moment for the words to sink in. "How do you know?"

Elena said nothing.

"Let's just say there was some bad blood between the Gilbert and the Salvatore," Bonnie said. "In other words, we won't be landing Salvatore for this project."

There was a brief silence.

"Okay," Enzo finally said. "The project is dead then. I will call the investors personally."

No.

No. She had worked too hard, and this project meant too much. She couldn't just let it go. Not like that. Not without a fight.

And, yes, perhaps there was a part of her that wanted to see Damon Salvatore again. To prove to herself that she could do this. That she could see him, talk to him, work with him—and somehow manage to not shatter under the weight of it all.

"Let me talk to him," Elena said softly.

"What?" Bonnie looked at her, stunned. "Are you serious, Elena?"

"We need to at least try."

"But Elena…"

"I don't give up easily," Elena said. "I have never known you to walk away from a floundering deal if there was any chance of saving it, right?"

For a moment, Bonnie said nothing.

"We can't keep this from the investors," Enzo said. "We need to update them about the project."

"I can schedule a conference call for next week," Bonnie said.

"By next week we will either announce that we have Damon Salvatore on board, or that the project is in trouble," Elena said.

"Maybe he will agree," Bonnie said softly, touching Elena's shoulder gently.

Enzo's head tilts ever so slightly to the left, as if considering Bonnie's words. "Is there something I need to know?"

Elena licked her lips. "Damon…and I had history. About ten years ago here in Mystic Falls. Right before he left the town, actually. I don't know if he will agree, but I think he will hear me out."

Elena's stomach twisted unpleasantly and she told herself not to worry. Damon would help her. He had to, because right now everything she wanted was riding on him.

After fifteen minutes being in the theatre, Elena was regretting her decision. She had circled the room twice and seen dozens of familiar faces from Mystic Falls.

But she hadn't seen Damon.

He must be here, though, so Elena decided that the best approach was to go up to the second level, parked herself along the balcony, and scanned the guests from above. She was heading that direction, her head slightly down as she was taking a second to check her office email and messages on her phone, when she caught a glimpse of something familiar in her peripheral vision.

Elena looked up, ignoring the sudden tightness in her chest, and searched the surrounding faces for him. Except he was not there, and now her chest tightened even more, this time with disappointment.

She took another step as she put her phone back into her tiny red purse.

And that's when she saw him.

He was descending the stairs, his attention focused on the distinguished-looking man beside him. Elena recognised the man beside him. It was Klaus Mikaelson.

Whereas Klaus might be sex on wheels, Damon was the slow burn of sin and seduction. And what a sight he was. Whether in a tux or jeans, where Damon was concerned, it was the man that mattered, not the garment.

He was so sexy and handsome that the word was almost an insult. But it was more than that. It was not his looks, it was his presence. He commanded the room simply by being in it, and Elena realize that she was the only one looking at him. The entire crowd had noticed his arrival. He must feel the weight of all those eyes, and yet the attention didn't faze him at all.

He looked dark and sexy and unpredictable. More, he looked important. The kind of man who could say "go to hell" to convention, and have everyone scrambling to keep up with him.

This was the man who lived in Elena memories. Those crystalline blue eyes. That wide, gorgeous mouth. The thick brows and sculpted features.

She wanted to throw herself into his arms. She wanted to be held by him. But that was no longer her right, and that reality was pounded home as Elena glanced around and realized that every woman in the vicinity was looking at him, just as she was. She closed her hand into a fist, feeling suddenly proprietary, even though she had no claim on this man anymore.

The past was over, goddammit. She needed to just suck it up and move on, just like she had been doing for her whole life.

Elena took a deep breath, then another, as she forced herself to get her shit together. She was a businesswoman with a lucrative proposition. She not a starry-eyed girl getting weak-kneed around the ultra-sexy man of the hour.

She could do this. She could approach him, greet him, tell him that she was not going to accept a brush-off. That it had been ten years, they were both grown-ups, and he was just going to have to listen to her.

Straightforward. Direct. To the point.

Right. She could manage it. No problem at all.

Elena took a step toward him, then another.

She straightened her shoulders and put on the professional smile that she had honed over five years of working for the CEO of Gilbert International.

She kept her eyes on Damon as she moved towards him.

He didn't see her—he was completely focused on the man beside him. She couldn't hear their conversation. Klaus said something, and Damon laughed, his wide, sensual mouth curving into a smile that freeze in place as he casually scanned the crowd—and then found hers.

A wild heat burnt across his expression, but was banked so quickly that Elena almost thought she had imagined it. Now when she looked, she saw only a blank stoicism. And yet there remained an intensity to him, the illusion of motion even though he had gone still in the room.

His eyes were locked on hers, and Elena stood motionless as well, unable to move. Almost unable to breathe.

"Damon," she said, but she was not sure if she had spoken aloud or if his name had simply filled her, as essential as oxygen.

They held like that, time ticking by, the world around them frozen. Neither of them moved, and yet Elena felt as though she was spinning through space and hurtling toward him. The illusion terrified her, because right then she knew two things—she wanted desperately to be in his arms again, and she was absolutely terrified of the collision.

And then, suddenly, the world clicked back into motion. His eyes held hers for a split second longer, and in those few brief moments before he turned away, Elena saw the flash of cold, hard anger. But there was something else, too. Something that looked like regret thawing under the ice.

Elena realized that her limbs would function again, and took a step toward him, knowing that this was her chance. For the project—and for something deeper that she did not want to think about because opening that door scared her too much.

But it didn't matter. Not her fear, not the project.

Because Damon didn't look at her again.

Instead, he strode right by her, never looking back, never even slowing. And Elena was left to watch him pass, as anonymous as all the other women who stood there and looked after him with longing.

x x x

What the hell had she been thinking?

The man had flatly declined a meeting with her. Had she really believed that once he saw her in person everything would change? That he would rush over, take her hands, and ask her how he could help?

Elena didn't believe that, no. But damn it, she had hoped it.

It had seemed so simple in theory. Not easy—nothing about seeing Damon again was going to be easy—but by the numbers. She could do it, especially because she had to do it.

But she had choked.

Instead of taking the straightforward approach—find him, talk to him—she had frozen. Instead of moving in, she had let him pass her by.

Damn.

Elena had miscalculated everything, and whatever slim confidence she had been clinging to had been thoroughly and dramatically shattered.

She saw Caroline Forbes across the room laughing with a woman in a short, tight dress and sun-streaked blond hair. She glanced her way, and Elena saw her brows lifted slightly in question. _Need me?_

Elena shook her head and smiled. She had known Caroline since first grade and she knew Caroline would do anything for her including asking Klaus to arrange a meeting with Damon. Caroline was engaged with Klaus two months ago, and they had been through a lot to get together. She wasn't going to mess up Caroline's relationship because she knew Klaus was Damon's best friend and he was aware about their history.

Besides, it was time to bite the bullet. She came here to pitch a project, and she was damned if she would leave without giving it a shot.

Jazzed from her mental pep talk, Elena started off in the direction in which he had disappeared, only to be waylaid by the announcement that the film would begin in fifteen minutes, and guests should start making their way toward the theatre.

The announcement pretty much destroyed any chance of getting a spare moment with Damon. For one thing, Elena was certain he must have some sort of man-of-the-hour thing to do onstage before the film started. For another, the crowd had become so thick that she had no choice but to be swept along with the throng.

Elena allowed herself to become part of the surge, making peace with the realization that she was going to have to either find Damon right after the screening or wrangle her way into the after-party—a perk that her invitation doesn't include.

Black-clad ushers who were probably USC film students directed the crowd out of the multiplex and over to the original theatre. It was one of her favourite places in Mystic Falls. She used to escape here as a teenager, losing herself to another reality hidden in this exotic venue. It had been recently remodelled, but unlike the shining modernism of the ballroom they had just left, the lobby of the theatre still has a bit of camp, with statues brought from different countries, ornate ceiling tiles and fixtures, folding screens used as wall decorations, and lots of red walls and carpets.

Once inside the theatre, though, technology rules. The IMAX screen was huge and state of the art, and Elena couldn't deny the thrill of knowing that she was about to see Damon splashed larger than life in front of her.

She grabbed an aisle seat in the very last row, figuring that she would have the best chance of extricating herself from the crowd and finding Damon if she could get out the door quickly once the film was over. The theatre wasn't completely full, and there were five or six seats between her and the next person over by the time the lights dimmed. Elena couldn't help but be relieved. She was on edge and antsy, battered by memories that were butting up against her, pushing and prying and trying to break free. She was tired of fighting them. After the film, she could be strong again. But for the next seventy minutes, she wanted to lose herself to the past and to Damon.

A ripple of applause filled the room as a man with grey hair took the stage and introduced himself as Michael Prado, the documentary's director.

"As many of you may know, I serve on the board of the National Historic and Architectural Conservation Project, and in that capacity, it has been my privilege to observe the growth of many talented young architects. Some display raw talent. Some, a keen business sense. Still others have an innate ability to mesh form and function, location and purpose. Only once, however, have I seen all those attributes embodied in one man. And that man is here tonight. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Damon Salvatore."

There was considerably more applause as Damon took the steps two at a time, then waved at the audience before shaking Prado's hand.

"Thank you all for the warm welcome," he said as he took the mike. "And thank you, Michael, for your incredibly generous words. As you might realize," he continued, turning so that he faced the audience without putting his back to the director, "a documentary of the nature that Michael has put together is an extremely invasive beast. And I say that with the utmost respect and affection," he added as the audience laughs.

"He is trying to say that I got in his way," Michael joked.

"Or that I got in his," Damon said, handling the audience with undeniable skill. "But seriously, I owe this man a great debt. This documentary was in the works even prior to the board of the Munich Contemporary Art and Science Coalition choosing my design for their museum. And while I can't say that I was prepared to have my process so fully scrutinized, I can say that the experience has been both educational and rewarding. I've had the luxury of seeing my work through another's eyes. That is a rare gift and one that should not be squandered. It taught me to respect my vision, but also to open my eyes."

Elena was riveted as she watched him, so personable, so comfortable in front of a crowd.

He shifted on the stage so that he seemed to look at everyone in the audience. "And now I am pleased to welcome you to the US premier of Stones and Steels, and to offer you this glimpse into another type of joint work. Michael Prado's interpretation of the trials, tribulations, and successes that surrounded the funding, building, dedication, and opening of the celebrated—some might say infamous—Munich Art and Science Museum."

He paused as the audience applauded once more, and it struck Elena how successful Damon was. He had made it to the top finally. He had proven to the world that he could do it.

After a few more words about the history of the project, Damon invited the audience to settle in and enjoy the show.

The lights dimmed, the curtain parted, and Elena leaned back in her seat as the music swelled and the screen filled with motion and light. The camera rose in a magnificent shot that started at the ground, then climbed faster and faster, rising up the now-iconic smooth edge of the museum to ultimately flared out as blue sky and sun fill the frame.

The screen turned a blinding white that dissolved into a title sequence and then a close-up of Damon, his hair ruffling in the wind and his jeans tight on well-muscled thighs as he leaned over a table littered with blueprints. He was deep in conversation with another man, but their words were muffled beneath the precise, careful voice of the narrator.

Elena watched, mesmerized by the man on the screen. By the passion and precision of his movements. He was absorbed by his work, compelled by it. There was power in what he does. Majesty, even magic.

And the depth of emotion she saw on his face made her skin heat and her heart pound in her chest.

Elena had seen that same fire, that same determination. She had seen joy and rapture. She had held him close and felt his heat, and she had been burned by the intensity of this man.

Her chest ached and her hands began to hurt. She realized that she was clutching the armrests too tightly. More, she had been holding my breath.

Air, she thought as she stood up. She just needed to get to the lobby. Maybe hit the ladies' room and splash some cold water on her face.

But as she started to lever herself out of the seat, someone slipped into the chair beside me.

Damon.

She hadn't seen him—didn't even turn to face him—and yet she had no doubt. How could she when her skin already tingle simply from his proximity? When the scent of his cologne surrounded her, all spice and musk and smoke?

Elena closed her eyes and held herself half in and half out of the chair, suddenly unsure of where she was going and why.

"Stay."

One simple word, and yet it compelled her. She drew another breath, nodded, and then settled back into the upholstered theatre chair. She turned towards him and found him focused on her. Shadows danced upon his face, and Elena swore that she could tumble into the brilliant blue of his eyes.

She started to speak, though she was not at all sure what she was going to say. Then he leaned towards her and placed his palm on her leg, so that the heel of his hand rested on the thin material of herd dress, but the tips of his fingers graze her bare skin. Every nerve ending in her body seemed clustered in that one area, sparkling and sizzling.

Elena was desperately, painfully aware of the contact, and she had to fight the urge to draw in a breath, to stiffen as her pulse pounded and a wild heat burst through her. She didn't want to react to him; she didn't want to give anything away. And she damn sure couldn't let go of the tight grip she had on control.

But he was leaning closer, the pressure increasing upon her thigh as his lips came within a whisper of her ear. "What the hell do you think you are doing here?"

Elena considered playing it coy, but there was no profit in that. Not to mention the fact that she was not at all sure she could pull it off. Not now, when he was touching her. "I need to talk to you," she said simply.

"Do you?" he asked, his voice as smooth and tempting as chocolate. "I'm fairly certain you don't have an appointment."

His finger moved slowly on her skin, back and forth, the motion so idle that he might be unaware of it. Except Elena knew that was bullshit. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Do I need an appointment to chat at a party?"

"Is that what we are doing?" he asked as his finger strokes and teases. "Chatting?"

She felt her chest tighten and a thin panic rose. "Please, Damon."

"Please what?"

"Outside." She hoped that he could not hear the way her voice was shaking. "Can we just go talk for a minute in the lobby?"

Elena tried to rise, but he held her down with a gentle but firm pressure on her leg. In the process, he managed to slide her hem up, revealing just a sliver more of bare skin. It was enough, however, to make her feel even more exposed. Even more vulnerable.

To make her remembered the way his hands felt when he was touching her without anger or pretence.

Elena swallowed as a wave of longing and regret broke over her. "Damon…"

"You are so determined to talk, then talk here." His voice hadn't lost the velvet, but there was steel under it now.

"We will bother everyone around us," she whispered, determined to regain her equilibrium.

His brows rose, and Elena saw the amusement danced at the corner of his mouth. "Will we?" His hand eased higher, pushing her skirt up with the motion. "I didn't think our … conversation … would be quite that loud."

"Stop." She closed her hand hard over his, preventing him from gaining even another millimetre.

"Why?"

"Because I said so, dammit."

"I meant, why do you need to talk to me," he clarified. "But the same applies." He eased his hand higher, pushing her skirt up inch by excruciating inch. "Tell me why you say I should stop. Because you don't want me to touch you? Because you don't want me to slide my hand just a little bit higher? Because you don't want my fingertips to stroke your panties and find you wet and hot?"

Her mouth was dry, her body burning. And—damn her all to hell—he was right. She was desperately wet, her thighs hot and her sex throbbing.

"Or maybe it is because you do want me to keep going? Because you can imagine—can remember—the way my finger feels inside you, teasing you, stroking your clit. Are you wet now, princess?" he asked, his voice as gentle as the finger that still skimmed along her thigh. "Are you hot and needy and silently begging me to touch you, to slide my finger over your slick, wet heat? Is that what you want? Come on, sweetheart, you can tell me. Don't you want me to take you there? To take you higher and higher until you tremble in my hand as the orgasm rocks you? Because I think you do. I think you want it so bad you can taste it."

Elena closed her eyes, determined not to let him see the truth of his words on her face. "Stop it," she repeated. "You can't—"

"The hell I can't." The soft sensuality in his tone had vanished, replaced by harsh accusation. "Do you think I haven't watched you tonight? Do you think I didn't see the way you have looked at me? We both know you still want me, and we both know that pisses you off. So tell me, Elena. I want to hear it. I want you to say it out loud."

But there was no way in hell that she was conceding. Because while it might be true—God help her, she still wanted him, and that did piss her off.

"Tell me," he repeated, his words heavy with ten years' worth of hurt and anger. "And then I will listen to what you have to say."

Elena winced as something like guilt crashed over her. But she pushed it aside even as she shoved his hand away and bolted up out of the chair. "Go to hell," she snapped, ignoring the low-pitched "sssshhhh" from down the row.

She stumbled up the aisle, then practically slammed herself against the door, not even taking a breath until she was safely in the lobby.

She leaned against the wall and told herself to get a grip. She hadn't quite managed that task when the door opened and Damon strode out and headed straight towards her. She must have flinched, because she saw his jaw tightened, and he came no closer.

"Not exactly the sweet words I was looking for," he said wryly. "But good enough."

"Just leave me the hell alone," she said.

"I can do that." His tone was now all business. "Or you can tell me why you want to talk to me."

Elena blinked, a little whiplashed by his sudden change in tone. "A job," she managed to say, even as her shoulders sagged with both relief and, though she hated to admit it, a touch of disappointment. She pushed the latter firmly away—there was no room for anything but business between Damon and me, and even imagining there might be more was a recipe for heartache.

His eyes stayed fixed on mine, then he nodded briskly. "All right. I'm listening."

Elena straightened herself, sliding into business-mode and relishing the sense of being back in control. "It's for Gilbert International," she said. "And before you turn me down, I'd like you to hear me out."

She took his silence as acquiescence and continue, giving him the full rundown of the project from inception to the horrific news that Wes had pulled out.

"Miss America got slammed on Facebook, and now the runner-up has the crown?"

"No," she said firmly. "This isn't about bringing in the runner-up. It is about making this resort the best that it can be."

"Really?" His gaze skimmed over her, as sensual as a slow caress. "I don't recall being approached when the project was initiated."

"You were tied up with the job in Dubai."

"Was I?" he said, as if that commission was nothing more than a figment of her imagination. "So this has nothing to do with the fact that your precious resort is in more trouble than you've let on?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Problems with the FAA, Elena. Utility permitting. Environmental groups. Do you want me to go on?"

"Everything you have listed is being handled," Elena said, which was technically accurate. And he was right about the environmental groups, too. As it turned out, Dunham Lake was a habitat for a rare species of cave crickets, and negotiating that possible land mine was as fraught with destructive potential as disarming a nuclear bomb.

But what really concerned her was how he had heard about those problems. Because Gilbert International kept a tight lid on each and every one of them.

"Dammit, Damon, the bottom line is that it is a great opportunity."

"I'm not saying it isn't." He held out his hand. "Come with me."

She glanced at his hand, but she didn't take it. After a moment, he lowered it, and the shadow she saw in his eyes came very close to breaking me.

He said nothing else, but turned and started walking. She followed him in silence all the way back to the ballroom and then into a hallway that she hadn't entered before. "Won't they miss you?"

"No." He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a way she found both disarming and very, very sexy. "Besides, the after-party is here. Eventually, whoever needs me will find me."

Elena nodded, then took the opportunity to look around. The hallway was wide with white walls rising to a low ceiling. The floor was brushed concrete, and it was broken up by several geometric, flat-sided pillars spaced down the length.

Dozens of framed black and white photographs lined the walls, and as they walked they passed Brad Pitt, George Clooney, Harrison Ford, and countless other stars of some of my favourite movies.

But it was not those images that Damon wanted to see. Instead, he took to the first pillar and the full colour photograph that hung there. It was of the Winn Building in Manhattan, a glass and steel skyscraper that rose like royalty over the city, with so much retail, office, and living space that it was practically a city unto itself.

Damon said nothing as they looked at the image, and she estimated that a full minute passed before they moved to the next pillar and the framed image of the new Salzburg Opera House, with its curved facade that seemed to flow like music in perfect harmony with the mountains that frame it.

The last photograph was not of a commercial project, but of a house in the mountains outside of New Mexico. Its burnished exterior blended with the stone and rock, and though the single-story residence was obviously both new and state of the art, it flew over the landscape with the kind of bold confidence that suggested it rose fully formed from the mountains that bore it.

"What do you know about these?"

Elena told him, giving him the details that he already knew. How the Santa Fe getaway for a well-known philanthropist finally earned him the recognition he deserved and jump-started his architectural career. How the opera house thrusted him into the design-build arena when he branched out from strict design work to the full spectrum of property development. And how the Winn Building was a major victory for Salvatore Development, as it marked his company's foray into the lucrative New York market, and resulted in the first project in which he retained an ownership interest.

She didn't mention that the rental income from the Winn Building must have at least quadrupled Damon's net worth overnight. But they both knew that she was aware. She had been in construction business all these years and had gained some understanding of the monetary potential for the kind of projects Damon now commanded.

In other words, Damon didn't need the income from The Resort at Dunham Lake. And considering how fast his star was ascending with the documentary and the possibility of a feature film, he didn't even need the publicity.

All Elena had to offer was the challenge. She could only hope that would be enough.

Elena turned so that she was facing him, her back now to the pillar. "So? How did I do?"

"Not bad. You have been watching my career."

"No," she said, the lie coming easily. "But I'm good at my job. And that means I know who I'm recruiting."

"Recruiting," he repeated. He took a single step toward her.

"Yes." The word was firm, and Elena was proud of how steady she felt.

He stepped closer, reducing the distance between them to mere inches. She tilted her head back. She couldn't help but feel small. Vulnerable.

She pushed that down, though, and met his eyes, hoping hers showed ice and determination.

"Do you remember our time together?"

His words were like a slap, and despite all her resolve, she stepped backward, only to be foiled by the pillar behind her. "I—of course I do." She licked her lips. "Damon, I'm sorry about the past. But this isn't—"

"No," he said, holding up a finger to silence her. "Do you remember before? Before you tore it all apart. Do you remember the way it felt when I touched you?"

Her throat had gone completely dry, and she could feel small beads of sweat at the nape of her neck. "Damon. Don't."

He stepped closer, ignoring her. "Tell me, Elena. And be honest, because I swear I will know if you are lying." His voice was low, seductive, and utterly commanding. "Do you remember?"

She shook her head, but that isn't enough to push away the truth. Of course she remembered. She remembered every laugh, every touch, every breath. She remembered every word of every conversation, the taste of every meal. She remembered the glorious sensation of his hands upon her and his cock inside her.

But she also remembered the pain when they were together. Not only they were in pain. The people around them felt the hurt too.

His fingertip hooked under her chin and he tilted her head up so that she was staring deep into his eyes. "Do you remember?" he repeated.

Elena said nothing.

"And at the end," he persisted. "Do you remember what you asked me on your birthday ten years ago?"

She licked her dry lips, then nodded.

"Tell me."

 _Whatever you need, baby, I promise. You only have to ask._

 _Damon, I—I need you to leave me. I need you to walk away and to never look back._

The memory pounded like red neon inside her head.

"Tell me," he repeated.

"I asked you to leave." Elena said the words simply, as if every syllable wasn't ripping her to shreds.

"And did I?" His voice was still even, still calm, but there was no hiding the tension that back each and every word. "Did I not do exactly what you asked? Did I not walk away even though it just about killed me?"

It killed her, too. Elena wanted to shout the words at him, but she didn't. She couldn't. "Yes." Her voice sounded lost. Hollow. "You did."

He leaned closer, placing one hand on the pillar just over her shoulder. He was at an angle, his face so close she could smell whiskey on his breath. "So what exactly do you want from me now?" He stroke his free hand down her bare arm until he reached her hand. He twinds his fingers with her and pulled her hard against him.

Elena gasped and tried to ease backward, but it was not possible. He had moved his palm from the pillar to her lower back. He held her close, so tight that she was breathless, lost in the feel of him and, yes, in the erotic sensation of his erection, unmistakable against her abdomen.

"Damon…"

"Are you offering me a job?" he continued, ignoring her protest. "Are you offering to bring back everything you killed when you pushed me away?"

He released her hand. "Or are you offering me this?" he asked, as he brushed his fingertip over her lower lip, so softly and gently that she had to fight not to gasp with pleasure. "Or maybe this?" he asked as his hand moves lower, his palm grazing over her breast.

Her nipple tightened as her skin prickled with need. Elena had to focus on breathing, on not letting her knees give out.

Damon took no pity on her. Instead, he gently rubbed circles on her breast, taunting and teasing even as his words continue to flow over her. "Surely you remember how it felt," he pressed. "You in my arms. Your release. That expression of ecstasy etched on your face. The surrender I felt in your body."

"Don't." That single word was a cry. A plea.

"Don't?" His hand slid down again, his fingers twining with hers once more. "But I have to. So, tell me, Elena. Because I need to know. What exactly are you offering me?"

Her eyes stung, and she squeezed them shut, wishing for the release of tears but they simply wouldn't come. "Just the job," Elena finally said. She took a deep breath and open her eyes to face him. "Nothing has changed, Damon We can't …" She shook her head, letting her words trail away.

He held her gaze. The heat building in the space between them was so intense that Elena swore she could see the molecules spinning.

Slowly, he released his grip on her hand. He stepped back and she felt cold when he lifted his other hand from the small of her back. "You are right," he said. "We can't."

And that was it. Two little words, and then he turned away from her and walked down the hall. Elena stared after him, breathing hard, watching until he disappeared into the shadows of the larger room.

He never once looked back.


	2. Chapter 2

_MYSTIC FALLS 2007_

Elena knew exactly when her life shifted. That precise instant when his eyes met hers and she no longer saw the bland look of familiarity, but danger and fire, lust and hunger.

Perhaps she should have turned away. Perhaps she should have run.

But Elena didn't. She wanted him. More, she needed him, The man, and the fire that he ignited inside of her.

Raw and carnal, dark and dangerous.

She didn't know risk until she met him. Didn't understand danger until she looked into his eyes. Didn't comprehend passion until she felt his touch.

She should have stayed away, but how could she when he was everything she craved? When she knew that he could fulfil her darkest fantasies?

What worried her the most, she admitted silently, was that she found him both compelling and fascinating.

Elena had just turned eighteen when she saw Damon during the sweltering heat of a summer in Mystic Falls at Tyler Lockwood's mansion. Life was looking excited ahead. She would soon graduate and go to college. It was the first summer she spent away from her parents because Grayson Gilbert was running a campaign for governor. Miranda had been one of the policy developers worked with her husband closely. Within weeks after Grayson had kicked off the campaign, Grayson had become the darling of the media.

Tall and statuesque, Grayson Gilbert was a commanding presence in any room. He had a strong, stunning profile that would have looked good on an ancient gold coin. He also had a way of focusing the attention of those around him. In Elena's mind, there was no doubt her father would win the campaign.

Elena's grandfather, Jonathan Gilbert put everything he had into building Gilbert International. It was always understood that Grayson would be his heir apparent and he went along with Jonathan's dreams but they were never really his dreams. Grayson had always wanted a career in politics. He and Miranda had agreed that life was simply too short to spend it maintaining someone else's vision. Running the company was nothing more than a job to him. He had done it extraordinarily well but he could walk away tomorrow and never look back.

In fact, walking away from Gilbert International was precisely what Grayson planned to do. Sometime in the next few years. He knew his daughter would take the helm eventually. He knew his little girl was smart and capable of running a company the size of Gilbert International. And with the celestial help of his brother John Gilbert, Grayson had no doubt Elena would manage to run the company successfully.

In one sense she had known Damon all of her life. Growing up she had encountered him from time to time in Mystic Falls—but he was a Salvatore. Everyone knew that Salvatore males were trouble. The Salvatore men were slick. Joseph Salvatore had built an empire in Mystic Falls and his son Giuseppe had continued to grow their empire. Slick and smart and as dangerous as sharks in dark water was what everyone in town described them. Together with the Mikaelson family, the Salvatore family formed a strong and powerful empire in Mystic Falls. They were dirty, according to Grayson and John Gilbert. They were neck deep in all sorts of shit. Gambling, smuggling, money laundering. Bribery, kickbacks, fraud. You named it, they were in it. But they had got powerful friends, and the sheriff was not authorized to officially pursue any of it. Nice girls might indulge a few fantasies, but they didn't date Salvatores. That, coupled with the fact that he was seven years older than she, had formed a huge barrier.

Tyler was the only son of Richard Lockwood, the mayor of Mystic Falls. Elena had known Tyler since first grade and he was the vice-captain of the football team of Mystic Falls High School. Matt Donovan was the captain and he was Elena's boyfriend.

Tyler had told her that he was having some friends over at his mansion for burgers by the pool, and she was welcome to join them as Matt would be there as well.

Elena wasn't keen to join them initially but she was not sure what compelled her to emerge from her house that afternoon. All she knew was that she came in her ratty cut-offs with an ancient Rolling Stones T-shirt over her bikini top. She thought she would stay for an hour. Have a burger. Maybe she would sneak a beer as well.

But when she actually got to the pool deck, all thoughts of beer and burgers evaporated, replaced by pure, decadent, desperate lust. And not the teenage crush kind, either. No, she saw Damon Salvatore shirtless and in swim trunks that clung in a way that made her hormones lit up. His wet hair was swept back from his face, and he was brandishing a metal spatula as he stood by the grill, laughing with two other guys, who Elena later learned were his best friends, Klaus Mikaelson and Alaric Saltzmann.

Klaus was a year older than Damon and he had been helping with his father at the Mikaelson Corporate since he graduated from Harvard University. Alaric was the same age as Damon and he was one of the attorneys for Salvatore Enterprises. Damon had just come back from his master degree in Cambridge.

Together, Klaus, Damon and Alaric were a smorgasbord of hotness that even Elena reasonably inexperienced eyes were more than capable of appreciating. But Damon was the only one that she wanted to take a bite out of.

She heard Tyler called her name, and the three of them turned to look in her direction. She stopped breathing as Damon's gaze swept towards her, his expression never changing as he looked her over and then, oh-so casually, went back to flipping burgers.

Elena was not sure what sort of movie she'd had running subliminally in her head. Something wild and romantic, she guessed, because the moment he turned away, she felt a hot wave of disappointment wash over her. And that, of course, was immediately replaced by mortification. Could he tell what she was thinking? What was he going to think of her now? The one with the schoolgirl crush?

Holy crap, the idea was horrifying.

"Hey, Elena," Tyler called, his words jerking her posture straight as effectively as a string pulling a marionette. "You are joining us for burgers?"

"I—" Her words had stuck in her throat, and she knew she couldn't stay there. She needed space. Hell, she needed air. "I—I think I'm going to get something to drink." She blurted the words, then turned and ran back into the house, certain that her burning cheeks were a fire hazard.

Later that evening she tried to concentrate on television. On a book. On browsing around on the Internet. But nothing held her attention. Her mind was too full of Damon, and in the end, she went to bed early. Not because she was tired, but because she wanted the pleasure of the dark. The thrill of sliding her hand down her belly and under the band of her underwear, then touching herself with her eyes closed as she imagined that it was Damon's fingers upon her. His fingers, his tongue, every decadent inch of him.

It was a bedtime fantasy that became a personal favourite, and one Elena repeated many nights over the next few weeks. Fortunately, she didn't repeat the squealing and running like a twit every time she saw Damon. Tyler's uncle, Mason was Alaric best friend and they spent a lot of time together. And it was the football season during the summer, those three guys became a fixture at the field. Within a few weeks, Elena had actually started to like both Klaus and Alaric. She thought of them like big brothers. As for Damon—no way would she ever feel brotherly toward him, but at least she could carry on a conversation without imagining his lips on hers.

Tyler called them the Three Knights, because the Three Musketeers wasn't original enough for guys as unique as them. "Besides," he had joked one evening as he hooked an arm around her shoulder and grinned at the guys, "this way we have knights and a princess in Mystic Falls."

Damon focused those hypnotic blue eyes on her, obviously considering the comment. "Is that what you are?"

Elena froze, stunned by the question. She thought it was an awkward, uncomfortable fit.

He was watching her—his gaze holding steady on her face as she floundered for a reply, and for a moment she thought that he saw the girl beneath the facade and the family name. Elena thought that he saw her.

Then he smiled, all casual and false, and the spell was broken. "It's just that in the stories, the princess is always dragon bait. Princess needs to be saved."

Elena had no idea how she was supposed to respond to that, and her discomfort made her temper flare—and then exploded when Klaus and Tyler both guffawed and Damon shot them a cocky I've won this round grin.

"Don't worry about me," Elena said coldly. "I won't ever be dragon bait. I don't need to be saved."

"No?" He looked her up and down, and it took every ounce of her self-control to stand still as his eyes raked over her. "I guess we will see," he finally said, and then without another word, he turned around and walked away.

Elena watched him leave, feeling itchy and unsatisfied. She wanted something—something big and wild. Something like the sizzle and pop that Damon's slow, heated gaze had made bubble up inside her.

Something? Oh, please. How much bullshit was that? Elena knew exactly what she wanted—or more accurately, she knew who she wanted. And he had just flat out left, as uninterested in her as she was enraptured by him.

As Elena bit back a frown, she saw Tyler watching her with an odd expression, and for the first time she feared that he knew my secret: She had more than an innocent schoolgirl crush on Damon Salvatore. And somehow, someway, she was going to do something about it.

She wanted him, plain and simple.

And so she set out to play the most dangerous game of all…

Elena stood in the middle of the town hall, her heels planted on the polished wood floor and the brilliant white walls of the main exhibit space coming close to blinding her.

Around her, members of the Founding Families mingled with hipsters as they buzzed from one painting to the next like bees around a flower. Male waiters in sharply creased tuxes carried wine-topped trays with purpose, while their similarly attired female counterparts offered tasty morsels that were such works of art themselves it seemed a shame to eat them.

Tonight's town hall celebrated the Founder's Party and Heritage Display and every member of the Founding Families of Mystic Fall was here. And not just because of the art. No, the crowd tonight had come as much to mingle with the Founding Families as to celebrate this special day.

And why not? The Salvatore family was among the Founding Families of Mystic Falls. Along with the Gilbert family, the Fell family and the Lockwood family, the Salvatores made up the circle of power within Mystic Falls. The Salvatore family was the most powerful among the group. The fact that their power stemmed from both legitimate and illegitimate means only added to their dark, edgy coolness.

Not that the illegitimate side of the equation was public knowledge, but it did add a sort of mysterious sheen to the Salvatore men who made the press drool.

Especially Damon Salvatore.

Because although she truly did want to attend the Founder's Party, she had really come here for one purpose, and one purpose only: to see Damon.

Not that Elena was progressing like lightning toward that goal. She had come without a solid plan—something she would never do—and after ninety minutes of mingling, she still hadn't seen him. But she knew he would be here tonight.

She didn't know if she was charmingly optimistic or sadly pathetic. All she knew was that despite the weeks that had passed—and despite the lack of any interest on his part whatsoever—her fascination with Damon Salvatore never waned.

For just a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of a fantasy. His finger crooked under her chin. The gentle pressure as he lifted her face to look into his eyes. His touch would be gentle but firm. His scent masculine and heady. "Elena," he would say. "Why the hell haven't we done this before?"

She would open her mouth to answer, but he would cut her off with a kiss, hot and open and so desperately demanding that she would melt against him, their bodies fusing from the electricity zinging through her, all of it focused between her thighs, making her squirm. Making her need.

"And there she is."

Elena flinched, yanked from her reverie by the caramel masculine tones. She turned to smile at Klaus Mikaelson. At first glance, he was intimidating as shit, despite being empirically gorgeous. All muscle and power and hard edges, with the kind of air that warned away anyone who might want to deal with him. He had been born and raised on Richmond's rather scary South Side before moving to Mystic Falls at the age of ten, and the rawness of his heritage still clung to him despite the tailored suit and other trappings of success.

His mixed-race background had blessed him with creamy dark skin that boasted a golden undertone, and his eyes flashed a deep ebony. It was in those eyes that you really saw the man. Massive and intense and just a bit menacing. But also fiercely loyal.

He smiled back at her. "How are you, princess?"

"Just bored." She sighed. "I'm glad you're here. I thought you won't be here tonight."

"It's the Founder's Party tonight. How could we miss it?" By we, Elena knew he meant himself and Alaric. "It is an important event in the town."

"Is Alaric hiding in the crowd somewhere?" She didn't mention she was looking for Damon.

"He was right behind me. But he was snagged by a limber blonde thing who looked like she wanted to wrap herself around him."

Elena laughed. She couldn't deny the fact that Alaric was good looking but he was definitely not a womaniser.

Klaus grinned. "Yeah, well, Alaric can be dangerous. You ought to be careful, princess."

She chuckled. "I will remember that."

Beside her, Alaric called out a greeting to Klaus. Elena inched away from Klaus and watched as the second knight approached. Alaric might not have the kind of good looks that could sneak up on a person like Klaus but he possessed the kind of charm that could make any woman like him immediately.

He reached out for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Nice seeing you here, Elena."

"Nice seeing you too, Alaric." She lifted a shoulder. "Really. It is good having you two here tonight."

"Where is Damon?" Alaric asked, and though the question was directed at Klaus, Elena turned to look, too. But she still couldn't see him.

"Well, shit. He was right beside me a minute ago." Klaus glanced around. "Where did he go?"

"He should have arrived." Alaric's attention turned to her. "You have seen him, though, right?"

"I—no," Elena admitted.

"Yeah?" Alaric's mouth curved down in a frown. "He texted me as he was leaving his house. Said he won't be late."

"Maybe he isn't going to turn up," she mumbled. "It is kind of boring."

"He said he would turn up—wait. There he is. Damon." Alaric's voice carried across the room, and several heads turned towards them. Elena, however, saw only Damon's face. His eyes. And she swore they were looking at her with the kind of wicked heat she had fantasized about.

She gasped, that sweet ripple of pleasure now moving to decidedly more interesting parts of her body. She glanced down at the floor, telling herself to get a grip. When she looked up, Damon was moving towards them in response to Alaric's insistent gesture. This time, however, she saw nothing in his eyes, leaving her to wonder if the ripples of heat existed only in her imagination.

He came towards them with long, confident strides. The crowd shifted automatically as he walked, as if it was as natural to clear a path for this man as it was to defer to royalty.

When he reached them, he didn't look at Elena. Not even a glance. Instead his attention was focused entirely on Klaus and Alaric. His manner was brusque, his tone all business. "Everything okay in Salvatore Enterprises?"

"We will talk later," Alaric said, "but it is all good, man."

"Good," Damon said. He shifted his weight, as if he was about to drift away from our group.

"I hear Salvatore Enterprises is starting a new project," Elena blurted. She didn't know about all the various business ventures that the Salvatore Enterprises had their hands in, but she had paid attention to when Damon had bought a piece of land in Richmond for his latest project.

Not that she gave a flip about his project—she just wanted the warmth of Damon's eyes on her. Hell, she would have settled for the quick flash of a smile. But all she got there was the chill of his indifference.

It made no sense. Her secret lust notwithstanding, and the conversation in the past few weeks had flowed easily. After all, she'd had a lot of practice at hiding her secrets.

Elena told herself that he had business on his mind, but she didn't really believe it. His silence felt like a slight. Like he was intentionally avoiding looking at her. And, frankly, on this of all days, that kind of ticked her off.

She was so intent on being irritated with Damon, that she didn't realize Matt had approached until he stepped up next to her and tugged her firmly into his embrace.

"Hey." Elena flashed a quick smile, hoping she didn't look disappointed to see him.

"Hey, yourself."

She leaned in to receive his sweet kiss. And, damn me all to hell, all she could think as her lips brushed this man's was whether or not Damon was watching.

She pulled away and forced herself to focus entirely on the man she had just kissed. "I'm glad you can make it tonight."

"I came here straight from practise," he said. "I don't want to keep my girl waiting."

He gently kissed her temple, and as she glanced between him and Damon, she had to wonder why the hell she was stalling. Matt was an incredibly kind and thoughtful man who had made it perfectly clear that he wanted to move past casual dating into a more serious relationship, and yet she was still caught up in lingering teenage fantasies? Honestly, Matt was the sweetest person on this earth that she had ever met. And considering she had known Matt since her first grade, both of their parents were very happy for them.

Purposefully, Elena moved closer, hooking her arms around his waist, then tilting her head up to look at his face. His wavy blonde hair was neatly trimmed and his blue eyes held charm and humour. All in all, he had nice-guy good looks, like the cute quarterback who was not as sexy as the guy in leather with the low-slung car, but still totally hot. "I really appreciate you being here with me."

"I know it is important for you to be here tonight," he said. His gaze flicked in turn over Klaus and Damon. "I just didn't realise there will be so many familiar faces tonight."

"It's the Founder's Party. Can't miss it. But I'm surprised you will sacrifice your practise to attend the event," Damon said. There was a hint of humour in his voice, but also the tightness of control. Both Alaric and Klaus must have heard it, too, because they each cut a sharp glance Damon's way.

"I have promised Elena I would keep her company tonight," Matt said.

"Keep her company?" Damon said, his tone musing. "To keep the princess company. How sweet is that?"

"Don't call Elena that," Matt protested.

"What?" Damon challenged. "Call her what?"

Elena could sense the air around them crackled with an uncomfortable, prickly kind of tension.

She cleared her throat, determined to change the subject. "I have heard there are a lot of heritage displays tonight. That will be interesting."

"Interesting?" Damon scowled. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then drew in a breath, and it didn't take superhuman observational skills to see he was making an effort to rein in his temper. "Maybe," he repeated, his voice now gentle.

He turned slightly, and for the first time since he joined the group, he looked in Elena's direction. "The heritage displays aim to show us how far Mystic Falls has come." For the briefest of moments, he looked directly into her eyes and she felt her breath catch in her throat. "To show us our root and where do we belong."

"Yeah," Matt said. His voice sounded stiff and stilted, and she had to fight the urge to pull out of his arms, because he sounded like a jealous little boy.

"Didn't you want to get something to drink?" Klaus asked, his voice reminding her that he and Alaric were standing just inches away, their penetrating eyes taking in everything.

"I did," Damon said, his expression now bland and his tone business-like, as if that could erase those last few seconds.

He walked away from her, and as she watched him go - as she stood there clinging tightly to Matt's hand—she knew that if she wanted him, she was going to have to go after him.

Elena knew it was wrong.

But she couldn't help herself.

Somehow, he had snuck into her thoughts. He had filled her senses. She had felt that tug the first time she had laid eyes on him. But over the past few weeks, Damon had become an obsession.

There were times that Elena thought that he was attracted to her—she had felt the trill of electricity in the air when they stood close together.

At least once or twice when she had caught his eyes the illusion of friendship had turned to ash—burned away by the heat she had seen in him. But those moments lasted only a few brief and fluttering seconds. Just enough to whet her appetite, and to make her fervently hope that the heat she saw was real—and not simply the desperate reflection of her own raging desire.

Because what assurance did she have that it wasn't all her? Maybe she was projecting attraction where none existed and, like a moth, she was going to get singed when she fluttered too close to the flame.

Still, she would never know if she didn't go all in and find out.

Air, she thought. She needed fresh air to clear her head.

She removed herself from Matt's hand. "I'm going to find John."

Elena wandered the town hall, gliding through the flotsam and jetsam of gossip and business talk. Everything from catty comments about other women's clothing, to speculation as to the best place for a post-gala meal, to praise for the undeniable skill of the various artists represented at the opening.

A few people she knew casually made eye contact, politely shifting their stance as if to welcome her into their conversation. She pretended not to notice. Right then, she was lost in her own head, trying to wrap her mind around what she wanted.

The town hall was shaped like a T, with the main exhibit hall—which displayed the heritage of Mystic Falls. Elena had been to the town hall before, so she knew the general layout, and she wandered the length of the room to where the two wings intersected.

There was a velvet rope blocking guests from entering the permanent area, but she had never paid much attention to rules. She slipped between the wall and the brass post that held the rope secure, then moved to the right so that she would be out of sight of the rest of the guests. After all, she wasn't in the mood for either a lecture on proper party etiquette or company.

The last time Elena had been in this area, the section had still been under construction. The walls had been unpainted and the glass ceiling had been covered with a dark, protective film. The long, narrow room had been gloomy and a little claustrophobic. Now it extended in front of me like a walkway to paradise.

Tonight, the glass ceiling was transparent. Outside, lights mounted on the roof shone down to provide the illusion of daylight, and all around her the area glowed with artificial sunlight and the bright colours of the various pieces on display.

Beautifully polished teak benches ran down the centre of the room, each separated by bonsai trees, so that both the seating and the decoration were as artistic as the architecture and the contents. And yet there was nothing overpowering about the room. Even tonight, with the hum of voices flowing in from the main gallery, she felt the blissful freedom of solitude.

With a sigh, Elena sat on one of the benches. Maybe she was a fool. Maybe she had lost her balance and her edge.

She didn't know

All she knew was that from the moment she met him, everything changed. One look, and she feared that she was in trouble.

Now the only question was, would she find her way back to who she was? And more important, did she want to?

Nothing was ever as easy as it should be.

"You look lost."

The familiar deep voice pulled Elena from her trance. Flustered, she turned to face Damon, then immediately wished she hadn't. She should have taken a moment to prepare herself first, because she heard her own gasp as she sank deep into those azure eyes.

"I—" She closed her mouth. Clearly, she had lost all ability to think or speak or function in society. She fervently hoped the floor would just open up and swallow her, but she would be okay with an alien abduction, too.

Neither of those things happened, though, and Elena found herself just sitting there staring at him while the corner of his mouth—that gorgeous, rugged, kissable mouth—twitched with what she could only assume was amusement.

"It was getting too crowded in there for me, and I needed some air."

Concern flickered across his face. "Is something wrong, Elena? You looked preoccupied."

"I'm fine," Elena said, although she trembled a bit, unnerved as always when he called her name.

Damon had also called her "princess" but she didn't like it because she didn't want Damon to see her as someone who needed to be rescued.

Right then, he stood to her right and frowned down at her. "I'm fine," she repeated, with a little more force this time. "Really. I was lost in thought, and you startled me. But I'm back now."

"I'm glad." His voice was smooth and gentle.

Elena stood up, then wiped her hands down the black material that clung provocatively to her thighs. She hoped it looked like she was smoothing her skirt. Instead, she was drying her sweaty palms.

"I'm going to go track down one of the girls with sushi," she said. "I didn't eat dinner and I think I'm feeling a little lightheaded." She didn't mention that he was the reason her head was spinning.

"Stay." He reached out and closed his fingers around her wrist. His hand was huge, but his grip was surprisingly tender.

Slowly, as if he was intentionally trying to drive her crazy, he let his eyes drift over her. Elena fought the urge to shiver—to close her eyes and soak in the fantasy of this deliberate caress.

Instead, she watched his face. Watched his expression grew hot, almost feral, as if he wanted nothing more in that moment than to touch her—to take her.

 _Do it,_ Elena thought. _Right here, right now, just do it and let me have thought and reason back. Take me, dammit, and free me._

But he didn't pull her close. Didn't press his hands to her ass and grind his cock against her thighs. Didn't slam her against the wall and press his mouth to hers while one hand closed tight around her breast and the other yanked up her skirt.

He did nothing but look at here—and in looking made her feel as though he had done all those things.

He also made her feel better about the abuse she had put her father's credit card through to buy this outfit. The dress was black and sleeveless, and hugged every one of her curves. And while Elena might sometimes think that her curves were more appropriate for a 1940s film noir wardrobe, she couldn't deny that she filled out the dress in a way that Damon seemed to appreciate.

She had worn her long dark brown hair straight tonight. Her black stilettos perfectly matched the dress and added four inches to her already ample height, putting her just about eye level with this man.

She wanted to stay right there, lost in the way he was looking at her.

At the same time, Elena wanted to run. To get away so that she could control herself. Get a grip, she told herself.

Escape won out, and she tugged gently at her arm to free it.

To her surprise, his grip tightened. Elena frowned at him, a little confused, a whole lot hopeful.

"I would like you to stay."

"Why?"

"Because the party is so damn boring."

"Oh." Cold disappointment washed over her. "The party."

She gave her arm another tug and this time, to her regret, he released her.

"Don't you think it is boring?"

"Yes, it is boring," she said, both automatically and truthfully. "It is dull and boring."

His brows lifted slightly, and for a moment Elena thought he looked mildly amused.

"Why did you turn up if it is boring?" she asked as she sat down again.

"I don't know," he said. "Why did you turn up if it is boring?"

"I don't know," she repeated after him.

They both laughed.

"Are you mum and dad around somewhere?"

"They can't make it. They have a press conference dinner."

"How does the campaign go so far?"

"According to my dad, brilliantly."

"I'm impressed with your dad. He has got incredible energy. Running a multi-billion business and a campaign at the same time. How did he do it?"

"Charisma."

"What?"

"Charisma is the word you are looking for. And my dad is pulsed with it."

His eyes met her and he held her gaze.

She swallowed hard. "What are you looking at?"

"You."

"What do you see?"

"A beautiful woman," he said, his tone making her heart flutter as much as his words. "A beautiful woman," he continued, "who needs to take a step back and think about what the hell she is doing and why she is doing it."

"Excuse me?" His tone had shifted only slightly, but it was enough to totally erase that flutter. "Excuse me?" Elena repeated, because he had so completely flummoxed her that she couldn't seem to conjure any other words.

"Everyone deserves to be happy, Elena," he said. "You deserve to be happy."

"What makes you think I'm not happy?"

He lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. "I get why you are dating Donovan," he said. "Political father. Upstanding boyfriend who happens to be the golden boy. It all fits. It all makes sense. The perfect daughter piece in the picture-perfect puzzle that makes up your life."

Elena had gone completely tense, her throat tight, her chest heavy. She felt like a walking target that he had just skewered with a dead-on bull's-eye.

"Not that it is any of your business, but Matt is wonderful," she said tightly, determined not to let him see that his barb had hit home.

"No," Damon said. His gaze never left hers and she swore she could feel the thrum of the air molecules buzzing between them. "For someone, maybe. But he is not for you."

"What would you know about it?" Elena had intended to sound indignant. She didn't even come close.

"I know enough," he said, smiling. "I know you need a man who is strong enough to anchor you. A man who understands what you need, in bed and out of it." A deliciously sexy smile eased across his mouth. "You need a man who can just look at you and get you hot. And, Elena," he said, "I also know that Matt Donovan isn't that man."

Perspiration beaded on the back of her neck. Her breathing was shallow, her pulse fast. Elena felt hyperaware of her body. Of the tiny hairs standing up on her arms. Of the needful, demanding feeling in her legs. She was wet—she was certain of it. And all she wanted right then was Damon's hands upon her.

It took a massive force of will to manage words, and even more strength to look him in the eyes. "If not Matt, then who?" she asked, but the question that remained unspoken was, "You?"

He reached out and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear, the soft brush of his finger against her skin just about melting me. "I guess that is something you will have to figure out."

She wanted to look away but she couldn't.

Eternity passed in the space of seconds, and when he spoke, there was a musing note to his voice, as if he were speaking more to himself than to her. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Elena asked, but by the time the words escaped my lips, the spell was broken, and it was as if he hadn't spoken at all.

"It's an important night for Mystic Falls," he said, his voice now tight with formality. "I'm glad you came, but we should get back to the party."

The abrupt change in his tone disappointed her, but she clung greedily to the words themselves, and tried to ignore the rest. He had said I'm glad. He was glad to see her tonight.

And Elena, apparently, had reached a new level of pathetic if she had sunk so low as to be analysing pronouns.

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," she said, hoping her own voice didn't reveal the loose grip she had on her sanity.

He flashed her that killer smile, then turned toward the main town hall. But after only two steps, he stopped, then looked back at me. "By the way, you are right," he said, and this time there was no denying the humour on his face.

"Oh, really? What is it?"

"The party is dull and boring," he said. "The organiser should have made some changes. It should be more fun."

He met her eyes once more, trapping her in his gaze just a little too long for comfort. Whatever humour had been in his face before had vanished. Instead, Elena saw only a vibrant, sensual intensity. "It should be more fun."

Elena swallowed, and despite the dryness in her mouth, she managed to form words. "What kind of fun you are hoping for, Damon?" she asked, and she could only hope that he understood the full meaning of her words.

His gaze lingered a moment longer. Then he inclined his head as if in dismissal. "I will see you back in the town hall."

Once again, he turned and walked away from her.

This time, he didn't look back.

x x x

As soon as Elena slid inside the car, Matt started the engine as if he couldn't get out of there quickly enough. "At least summer is going to end soon," he said darkly.

"Excuse me?"

"I just mean that you won't be seeing those three anymore."

"What the hell?" Elena's voice lashed out like a whip, but she didn't care. As far as she was concerned, she counted the three men as her friends.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

"Good. You should be. Now tell me why you would say something like that."

"Dammit, Elena, I can't. I shouldn't have said anything in the first place."

"No, you shouldn't have. But you did. And now you are going to explain."

"Elena…" He trailed off, his voice firm.

Elena crossed her arms over her chest. No way was he getting off the hook that easily. "What is going on? I mean, honestly, Matt, you were a shit to them earlier tonight."

"I was a shit to them?"

"Yes, you were. You were rude."

"Those three are bad, Elena. They aren't good guys."

Elena gaped at him. "That's insane. They are businessmen, just like my father."

"They have their fingers in a lot of businesses, I won't argue that."

She narrowed her eyes, irritated by the smirky tone of his voice. "If what you are saying is true, they would be behind bars instead of being in Mystic Falls. I mean, come on, Damon. They are three of the successful men in this town. They aren't holed up in some lame-ass pawn shop buying stolen stereos."

"You say they are businessmen?" Matt said. "I'm not disagreeing. But not all businesses are legit, and you damn well know it."

Elena started to reply, but held her tongue, because as much as she didn't want to concede any point to Matt, she had to silently admit that on the surface what he said was true. Her father had helped draft dozens of crime prevention bills and oversaw at least as many task forces at the state level over the years. And since he wasn't a man to leave his work at the office, Elena couldn't help but pick up some salient points here and there. And one thing she knew was that legitimate businesses often stood as fronts for criminal enterprises. But Damon's businesses? Klaus and Alaric were involved in illegitimate business?

She wanted to stamp her foot and tell Matt he was being absurd. That there was nothing about their businesses that would make the government even look twice. But her foot stayed firmly on the ground. Because now that he had shined a spotlight, she couldn't help but notice one or two red flags.

The biggest one was Destiny, of course, the high-end gentleman's club Damon and Klaus owned together, and which had been a bone of contention between them and the Founding Families, who thought they were wasting their money and tarnishing their reputations. The guys, apparently, either hadn't agreed or cared.

According to her parents, Destiny was a forbidden place with a surfeit of rich, horny men. Nice girls should have never gone there. But curiosity always won. She and Caroline had secretly made Destiny their first stop on Caroline's eighteen birthday.

Other than the anomaly of the club, the Salvatore family was in the business of businesses. Joseph Salvatore founded Salvatore Enterprises, which bought and sold companies, and its exceptional performance had rocketed his descendants into multimillionaire status. Elena had asked Grayson to explain to her what they did, and he had run her through the basics. Essentially, Salvatore Enterprises acquired all sorts of businesses, everything from car washes to liquor stores to temp agencies to she didn't know what else. Some, like the burrito place, they kept, hiring managers for the day-to-day stuff, and folding the business in under the umbrella of their holding company. Others they sold, making money off the various assets and real estate.

In other words, Salvatore Enterprises was gambling, making its fortune by betting on the acquisitions doing well. Apparently, they made a lot of really good bets.

And recently, Damon had started his own architectural firm DS Design and Salvatore Enterprises had started buying up lands in Richmond to build fancy apartments and hotels.

Ten minutes before, all of that seemed perfectly legit. Now Matt's suspicions had Elena hearing words like fencing and smuggling and money laundering. Had she been blind? Or was Matt being an ass?

Both possibilities pissed her off, and her words came out sharper than she intended. "What did you know about business, Matt? You spend all of your time in the field practising football. You know nothing about business."

"I may know nothing about business," he said, looking hurt. "But that doesn't mean they are good guys. And I never said that was the only reason I wanted you to stay away from them. Dammit, Elena, I care about you. I don't want you around men like them."

"What is this about, really? You don't like that I have male friends? That I was talking to Damon?"

"Talking to him? You two sneaked out of the party, Elena. I saw the two of you together. Only the two of you."

She tried to protest that Damon was just a friend, but the words felt bitter on her tongue, and she couldn't seem to get them out.

Matt stopped the car in front of her driveway and leaned closer, closing the distance between them. "And no, I didn't like it. I don't like the way he looks at you, either. I don't trust him. And I don't want you getting mixed up with him or his friends. And honestly, Elena, I don't think your father would like it, either."

His last words ripped a sharp breath from her. He was right, of course. Her father would not want to see her with Damon. Was Damon truly dangerous? Were the three men really criminals?

Damn. The possibility that the rumours about the illegitimate business of Klaus Corporate and Salvatore Enterprises were running all these years had been true had never even occurred to her. And assuming it was true, her father would not be thrilled to find out her relationship with those three.

How did they manage to cross a line and get away with it? It must be dangerous.

Dangerous, yes. Edgy, absolutely.

But pretty damned exhilarating, too.

Elena shivered, and saw that Matt was looking at her with a kind of fierce protectiveness. "I know," he said. "Those guys are scary. Stay away from them. From all of them."

She nodded mutely, but only because she knew she had to.

Her shiver wasn't from fear, but from excitement. From the possibility of finding that rush that she craved embodied in a man she wanted in her bed. A man that she already knew fired her senses.

Elena didn't know what that said about her and, honestly, she wasn't inclined to dive into a pool of introspection. After all, the bottom line remained the same. She wanted Damon Salvatore. Wanted his touch, his kiss. She wanted to be swallowed up whole, swept away.

Hell, she wanted to be with him.

It would never happen, though. Maybe she didn't know all of Damon's secrets, but she knew damn well that he wouldn't hurt her. Damon would do anything to keep her safe and sound.

Elena knew she had to stop thinking about him.

And as much as she hated to admit it, that was probably a good thing. she might crave the thrill, but she knew better than anyone that wild urges had teeth—and if she didn't want to be bitten, she had to be alert and be in control.


	3. Chapter 3

_MYSTIC FALLS 2017_

The moment Damon was out of sight, Elena's legs gave out. She sank to the ground, her skirt over her knees, her knees pulled to her chest. She hugged them close, because she was shaking. Not tears, but the best she seemed able to manage.

That was where she was when Caroline found her, her head down on her knees, her mind empty as she tried to avoid her memories, this night, every goddamn thing.

"Jesus, Elena. What happened?"

Elena lifted her head to find her friend crouching in front of her. Klaus was with her, standing a few steps behind and looking genuinely concerned. "Are you okay?"

Elena shrugged. "I' not having the best night of my life."

Caroline reached out and helped her up. "I saw you leave with Damon."

"I did."

"I'm guessing he said no," Caroline said.

"He said a lot of things," she admitted. "'No' was one of them."

"You know I would love to help," Klaus said. "But I can't."

"I understand."

"Why don't you hand with us?" Caroline suggested. "We can have a drink together."

Elena was tempted. At the moment, getting lost in drink and dance seemed like a truly fine idea. But she didn't want to be a third wheel. Even more, she needed to handle this. She needed to think. She needed to figure out a way to rewind this night, start over, and somehow get Damon to agree.

"Thanks, but no." She dragged her fingers through her hair. "I'm just frustrated. But I will walk back into the party with you guys."

Caroline looked surprise. "You are staying?"

"Yeah. I think. I'm not sure. I need to talk to Damon again. We didn't exactly get off on the right foot this last go-round."

Caroline's eyes narrow to slits.

"It is fine," Elena lied. "It is going to be just fine."

She could tell Caroline was not convinced, but Caroline knew her well enough not to argue. As soon as they were back in the main ballroom, she left them and headed to the bar for some wine. This time, she took a long sip, because as far as she was concerned, forced sobriety had been no great benefit. Heat bloomed through her as the wine hit her system, and she went slower with the rest of the glass, taking small sips as she circulated through the room.

The after-party was even more crowded than the pre-screening reception, which she supposed makes sense, as a lot of folks undoubtedly showed up right as the lights dimmed, planning to watch the film and then dive into party mode. Unfortunately for Elena, that was making it more difficult to manoeuvre, and she was feeling a little trapped and a lot claustrophobic.

Elena considered texting Caroline just to find her in the crowd, but sternly talked herself out of it. Instead, she doubled her efforts to find Damon. That was why she was here, after all. And she was not leaving until he had cooled down and she had the chance to really talk to him.

She eased over to one of the light-bathed pillars and stood with her back to it, using that as a central point from which to scan the faces around her. She didn't see Damon, but she did see a familiar face and grinned broadly when Alaric noticed her and made a beeline in her direction.

"Look at you." He spread his arms wide and gathered her into a smothering hug. "How are you holding up there?'

"Not great." She sighed. "But I'm glad to see you again, Alaric."

"Have you seen Damon yet?" He took her arm and led her towards a waiter with a tray of tiny puff pastries topped with sour cream and caviar.

"Yes." She took the napkin and appetizer he passed her, then tried to decide how she was going to eat it since she was still holding her wine in her other hand.

"I bet it didn't go very well." Alaric took her wineglass and tossed down the last of her cabernet, then handed the empty glass to a passing waiter.

"No."

"You haven't told me why you are here," Alaric said.

"You know I'm working on the Dunham Lake project, right?"

"Of course."

"Yeah, well, it is hit a little snag." Elena told him about Wes, and about her hope that she could convince Damon to get on board.

"You know he is going to turn you down," Alaric said. He was Damon's best friend and he was well aware of what had happened between them.

"But you also know I'm not a person who gives up easily," she said. "This project is very important to me."

"I know." He glanced around the room. "Where is the man of the hour?"

"I haven't seen him since just after we…the film ended."

"He is probably talking to some guests. And speak of the devil." He gestured to the far corner of the room where Damon stood in the red light from the balcony. The light meshed with the gold and the blue, giving that part of the room an even more surreal quality.

Apropos, Elena thought, considering the entire night seemed rather surreal.

Alaric hooked her arm through his. "Come on, kiddo. Let's go land you an architect."

"But Alaric…"

He looked hard at her, the humour all but erased from his face. "You need anything, you ask."

Damon was alone when they started out, holding a highball glass and sipping leisurely as he looked around the room, as if taking stock of an empire. He looked in Elena's direction, then stood a bit straighter. For a moment, Elena thought that he had seen her.

But it was not her that he had seen.

He held his hand out, gesturing for someone to come closer, and as she watched, a brunette glided up to him. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, and Elena was overcome with two equally powerful urges. The first, to run away. The second, to slap the look of unabashed delight right off her face.

"Do you know who that is?" She tugged Alaric to a stop beside her.

"Not a clue, which means she is probably not in the business. Or if she is, she is fresh off the turnip truck."

"We should wait," she said.

"We should go," he countered. "You want the man to talk to you about business, don't you?"

She nodded.

"And you told me you really want him to take up your project?"

I nod again.

"Then take a tip from Brother Alaric and talk to him while someone is with him. He will either have to say yes, or risk looking like an asshole in front of his lovely young friend."

Considering Alaric had a point, they continued on, only to stop again when they saw Damon and the woman's discussion shifted from casual to contentious.

"The one corollary to my rule?" Alaric said as they paused several yards away. "Don't walk into a minefield."

To be honest, Elena was curious enough to do just that. She wanted to know who this woman was, why he kissed her, and what they were now arguing about. She was imagining a lovers' quarrel, and the thought was not a happy one. Not because she was concerned about the quarrel, but about the lover.

She was distracted from her thoughts by Klaus's approach. "There you are, Alaric," he said before turning his attention to her. "You are still here."

"Mission not yet accomplished," she said, hooking her thumb to indicate Damon.

His mouth quirks up. "Good luck with that."

"Now go," Alaric said, pointing to where Damon was standing only moments before. "He's got to still be around here somewhere."

He gave Elena a quick hug, Klaus squeezed her shoulder, and then the two of them slide into the crowd behind her. She stood a moment longer, looking at the faces moving in front of her, once again searching the crowd for Damon and mentally rehearsing what she going to say to him as she glided through the light and people. He had to see the upside of doing this project, and she was going to reason with him, pointing out all the pros and the very minimal number of cons.

And, yes, she realized that as far as he was concerned, working with her would fall squarely in the "con" category. But there was no way that Damon could have done so well in business if he didn't have the ability to compartmentalize his emotions.

 _We can make this work—and I'm absolutely determined to convince him of that,_ Elena thought.

The crowd parted, and she once again saw Damon. The brunette was no longer with him, but she had been replaced by a svelte brunette who looked vaguely familiar. As Elena hurried in that direction, Damon looked up, and she smiled in greeting, certain that he must see her. He didn't acknowledge her, though. Instead, she watched as he slid his arm around the brunette's waist. Her face lit up, her expression suggesting that if his movement was an invitation, her smile was an acceptance.

Elena bit back a twinge of irritation as she continued forward, reminding herself that it was none of her business whose waist Damon had claimed. "Damon," she said once she had reached the two of them. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to speak with you."

"Is this about the resort?" His eyes were fixed on her, but his fingers were twined in the brunette's hair.

"Yes. Of course."

His attention shifted to the girl. "Then there's nothing to talk about."

"Damon, come on. You know—"

"I know that business hours are over, Elena." He traced his finger over the bitch's lower lip, and Elena felt her own lip tingle with longing.

"I realize that." Elena was uber-calm. She the epitome of calm. No temper, no frustration. Calm, thy name was Elena Gilbert.

She plastered on her best smile. "It is just that we are kind of under the gun here, scheduling-wise."

"Are you?"

Elena thought she heard curiosity in his voice, and since that was better than bland disinterest, she allowed a little spark of hope to rise.

"Yes. I told you earlier that—"

"I remember."

Elena fought back irritation. "Okay, then. So, can we talk?"

For a second, he said nothing. Then he lifted the brunette's hand and brushed his lips over her fingers. "I need a few minutes."

Her back stiffened but she didn't protest. Instead she shot Elena a vitriol-filled look, spinned on her heel, and stalked off towards the bar.

"You have got ten minutes to make your best pitch." He glanced casually at his watch. "I suggest you start."

"What?" Elena said stupidly. "Here? Right now?"

From the expression on his face, she thought he was going to make her do just that. Then he shook his head. "No. I think this is a conversation best had in private." He nodded towards the far side of the room. "Upstairs, at the far end past the bar there is a door that leads to a row of offices. There is a keypad for entry. The code is six-one-three-one. The last one on the corner is a small conference room. Michael has been using it this week to prep for the event. We can talk there. Be there in five minutes, or don't bother coming at all."

And then he turned from her, took two long strides, and melted into the crowd, leaving her scrambling to remember the code and figure out where exactly she was supposed to go.

Five minutes?

Damn. Damn. Damn

Still, Elena tried to put the time to good use, and as she moved through the crowd and made her way to the upstairs doorway, she kept her head down and her eyes focused on her iPhone as she tried to organize some photos. Because, dammit, she didn't have a projector, much less any sort of PowerPoint presentation. She was going to have to entirely wing it—and she bursted into the corner conference room with forty seconds to spare, albeit slightly out of breath and more than a little frazzled.

More so when she saw Damon. He was already in the room, seated at the far end of a polished mahogany table. He leaned back as he silently studied her.

Whereas Elena was certain she looked dishevelled and out of breath, Damon appeared just the opposite. He was strength and power.

Most of all, he was completely in control. Everything from his choice of this room to his selection of a seat. Hell, even his decision not to rise when she entered was a deliberate power play.

It was a trick she had used over and over herself. The idea was to intimidate. To claim control of the room and make sure that everyone who enters knows who holds the power. All in all, she had to admit that Damon was putting that trick to pretty good use. Because right now there was no doubt that she was the supplicant here. And pretty damned intimidated, too.

Yeah, well, to hell with that. Wasn't she the one with the opportunity? Wasn't she the one who could hand him the project of a lifetime?

Damn straight, and so Elena took a step forward, determined to make him realize that while he might have granted her this meeting, she was now the one who was running the show. "You said ten minutes, Mr. Salvatore. I can convince you in five."

His expression was almost amused. "I'm listening."

"I don't blame you for rejecting the idea initially. I understand that our past factors into this, and that seeing me was a shock. But that is a knee-jerk reaction. This isn't personal. It's business. And you are about to see just what an excellent business opportunity it is."

"Not personal? Everything between you and me is personal, Elena, and you damn well know it."

"Because you are making it that way. You want to be pissed? Fine. Be pissed. But take me out of the equation."

"You are not the only stumbling block, I assure you."

"I know you are pissed with my family. But what I'm asking for is a truce."

"A truce?" he scowled. "You must be kidding me."

"We are talking about business here and I know you are brilliant at business. You are the one who can do this."

She slid her phone across the table, opened to the image of the Winn Building that was the first in a slideshow of Damon Salvatore buildings.

"That's you," Elena said as the images scrolled. "Your buildings. Your talent. What you do with form, with structure, it takes my breath away." She paused just long enough to emphasize her point. "This isn't just a Gilbert International project. This is my project. And with you on board it will be a Damon Salvatore project, too."

Elena could tell she had his attention, and she took a step toward him. "How many men have documentaries made about their lives and work? How many men are the subject of a feature film?"

His eyes narrowed. "That is not going forward. Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Oh." She stumbled a bit, surprised by the vehemence in his voice. "But that is not even the point. This isn't about your reputation as a man or as an architect. It is about what you create. What you will create. Your buildings have caught the attention and sparked the imagination of the world, and yet you have never once worked on a property like this. An entire lake completely undeveloped. It is a blank slate, and I'm offering it to you."

She saw what she hoped was a spark of interest in his eyes and hurried on. "You don't want this to be just another Gilbert International's project? It won't be. It couldn't be. Because you and I both know that the resort you design will shine on its own. I want the best, Mr. Salvatore. I want you. And unless you are an idiot, you should want it, too."

Elena took a deep breath, and then, as if to signal that she was finally done, she puledl out a chair and sat.

For a moment, Damon did nothing. He didn't even move. Then he stood and crossed to the window. The glass was tinted, so Elena could see his reflection superimposed upon it.

"I want to know something," he finally said.

"Of course." Elena expected him to ask her about the budget. Or timing. Or the construction firms they routinely worked with. Anything but the words that came out of his mouth.

"I want to know did you regret when you ended it."

Her chest tightened and she had to resist the urge to hug herself. She could feel the anxiety reaching for her even now, along with the nightmares and twisted memories that slinked along, too. Slithering out of the night to fill her days. She shook her head, determined to keep it all banished, far and away. "It doesn't matter."

He turned from the window, his face a wild mixture of anger and hurt. "The hell it doesn't."

"It is over, Damon." She heard the panic creeping into her voice, and she feared that he could as well. Deliberately, she took slow, even breaths. She wanted to calm herself. And, damn it, she wanted to soothe him.

Elena wanted to ease the hurt that she caused, but that was impossible, because she couldn't answer his question.

"Did you?" he asked again, only now there was a gentleness in his voice that unnerved her.

Elena stiffened in automatic defence, afraid she would melt in the face of any tenderness from this man.

"You didn't want to end it," Damon continued. "Even now, you want it."

"You have no idea what I want," she said sharply, though that was a lie as well.

"Don't I?" There was anger in his voice. Hurt, too. "I know you want the resort."

She had been looking at the table top, and now she lifted her head. "Yes." The word was simple. It might be the first completely true thing she had said to him in the last ten years. "Will you take it? You and I both know it is the opportunity of a lifetime. Are you really going to let our past stand in the way of what can be a truly magnificent achievement?"

She watched his shoulders rose and fell as he took a breath. Then he turned away from her to look out the window once again. "I want the project, Elena."

Relief swept over Elena, and she had to physically press her hands to the table to forestall the urge to leap to her feet and embrace him.

"But I want you, too." He turned as he speaks, and when he faced her straight on, there was no denying the truth—or the longing—in his eyes.

She swallowed as what felt like a swarm of electric butterflies danced over her skin, making the tiny hairs stood up. And making her aware of everything from the solidity of the floor beneath her feet to the breath of air from a vent across the room.

Elena forced herself to remain seated. Because damn it, her instinct was to go to him and slide into his arms. "I—I don't understand." The lie lingered in the air, and she was proud of the way she kept her voice from shaking.

"Then let me be perfectly clear." He closed the distance between them, then used his forefinger to tilt her head up so that he was looking deep into her eyes. Elena shifted, not only because the contact sent a jolt of electricity right through her, but because she was afraid that if he looked too deeply into her eyes, she would run straight into his arms.

"No," he said. "Look at me, Elena. Because I'm not going to say this again. I told you once that I'm a man who goes after what he wants, and I want you in my bed. I want to feel you naked and hot beneath me. I want to hear you cry out when you come, and I want to know that I am the man who took you there."

Her eyes were burning, and she shook her head, as if by simply wishing it to be so, this would all go away.

"I want you, Elena. And I will have you."

"Damon, please."

"And you want me, Elena. You can deny it, but we both know that you would be lying."

"I do want you," she said, clinging tight to that fragment of truth as she tried to turn this to her advantage. "But there is the man and there is the architect. I—I can't be with the man. But I desperately need the architect."

"Package deal, princess," he said, the endearment making her cringe. "You want me on the project, I want you in my bed."

"Dammit, Damon," Elena said as anxiety crept through her, its cold fingers banishing the heat. For once, she did not try to force it back, because right now she could use it. "You are being ridiculous. I mean, who does that?"

"Apparently, I do." He was level and cool and just arrogant enough to piss her off. She was grateful—she would much rather be pissed than unsettled. Or, worse, aroused.

"Is this about revenge?" she demanded. "Because it seems like it."

His lips curved as if in consideration. "Maybe it is," he said, the confession slicing through her as cleanly and coldly as a well-honed blade. "But if so, revenge never tasted so sweet."

"Damn you, Damon," she snapped, as much in anger as in confusion. "Damn you and your grudge and your goddamn ultimatum." She snatched her phone off the table and bolted for the door, the world around her spinning in shades of red and grey.

Elena grabbed on to the frame, her back to him, then took a deep breath to steady herself. "I never meant to hurt you," she said, so softly she was not even certain he could hear her.

"Maybe not," he said, his voice equally soft. "But you did. And now if you want me on this project, you are going to have to pay the price."

Bastard.

He was a goddamn bastard on wheels and Elena would be damned if she going to let him use her like that.

She hurried down the stairs, her chest tight, her throat dry. By the time she burst outside into the cool night air, she was working herself up into a full-blown panic attack.

She wanted to run—hell, she wanted to race blindly down the street, not towards anything, but away. Away from Damon. Away from the past.

And away from this horrible sensation of being twisted up inside.

She wanted to, but she couldn't. Because if she tried to, she would no doubt trip in these damn stilettos, and she would end up breaking her nose outside the theatre.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

So Elena walked instead, wishing there was a way to turn off her thoughts, to push away her emotions.

 _You want me on the project, I want you in my bed._

Those words had hit Elena with all the force of a train, and now she had lost her grip on everything. Her plans for the resort.

She had everything all worked out, each step on the path so perfectly planned.

And then came Damon, and her whole world was turned upside down.

"Why is it," she wryly asked as she looked up at the sky, "that every time I come near you, nothing happens the way it should?"

Elena really hated chaos and uncertainty in her personal life; hated the helpless, endangered feeling it gave her. At work, chaos was fine—challenging, stimulating, exciting. Because at work, when she took risks or played hunches, they almost always paid off. If they didn't, the result was failure, not disaster. In her entire adult life, she had taken only one major personal risk, and it had proven to be catastrophic mistake: she had slept with Damon Salvatore and fallen in love with him. And what did it cost her? Plenty!

She could still remember clearly what her father had said to her.

"I have seen the way you look at him, Elena."

"Him?" For the briefest of moments, she was genuinely confused. Then she got it—and her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

"I can't stop you befriend with him," he said, ignoring her discomfiture. "But it can't ever go further than that. Not with Damon Salvatore." His voice had hardened, taking on a commanding and serious tone that Elena rarely heard from him. "You are my daughter and I will protect you," he said. "Even if that means protecting you from yourself."

"I don't know what you—" she began, but he cut her off sharply.

"He is not the man for you," he said firmly. He faced her straight on, his expression deadly serious. "And he should know that you are off-limits to him."

Elena opened her mouth to say something, then shut it again, because what the hell was she supposed to say? This was totally freaking surreal.

Her instinct was to deny, deny, deny. But curiosity got the better of her. "What is wrong with Damon?" she asked.

"Too many secrets will destroy a relationship," he said.

"I don't have any secrets."

"Maybe not. But he does. His own, and those he holds for others."

Her father's lecture that night hadn't just been about warning her to stay away. He had been telling her that he had ordered Damon to stay away from her.

But dammit, she wanted him. And she knew he wanted her as well.

Her family had warned her to stay away, that she could never handle Damon's dark dealings or scarred past. Maybe she should have listened. Maybe she should have run. But their desire was undeniable, and some temptations you just couldn't fight.

x x x

Damon left the town hall and was thinking back to that summer as well but his memories were far different from those of Elena's. He had fallen head over heels for the girl that summer. She had been a beautiful teenager and in the years since he had last seen her, her figure had ripened, and her delicately boned face had acquired a radiance that was mesmerizing. She was looking more beautiful than he had remembered.

He had slept with movie stars and exotic beauties in the last ten years but none of them had been able to get under his skin as Elena had. He had also never seriously considered marrying because he had never been able to duplicate the feelings he'd had for Elena—that violent, possessive, insane need to see and touch and laugh with her, that volcanic passion that controlled him and couldn't be sated. No other woman had looked up at him and made him feel humbled and powerful at the same time—or ignited that same desperate desire to prove that he could be more and better than he was. To marry someone who didn't do that to him was settling for second-best, and second-best in anything wasn't good enough.

At the same time, he had absolutely no desire to ever again experience those tormenting, stormy, crushing emotions again. They had been as painful as they were pleasant, and when his relationship with Elena was over, the mere memory of them had made his life a hell for years afterward.

He had tried very hard to erase the memories of Elena but it wasn't easy.

This one wouldn't be easy to say good-bye to. Elena would be a bottomless bag of surprises that would be hard to give up. Her roller-coaster range of emotions had captivated his attention as it had never been captivated before.

Recollections of their time together made his lower body uncomfortable. He wasn't proud of this desire. Ten years ago he had fallen in love with her almost the moment he laid eyes on her, and for years afterward, his life had been haunted by a laughing, haughty, prim eighteen-year-old.

In the last ten years, he had gone to bed with dozens of women. With them, the sexual act was an act of mutual gratification. With Elena, it had been an act of profound beauty. Exquisite. Tormenting. Magic ... At least, that's how h had felt at the time—very probably, he decided now, because he had been so insane about her he didn't know the difference between imagination and reality. She had captivated him at eighteen, but at twenty-eight she was far more dangerous to his peace of mind because she had changed, and the changes intrigued and beckoned to him. Her youthful sophistication had acquired the added gloss of elegance, yet that same soft vulnerability still glowed in her eyes, and her smile still changed from provocative to sunny, according to her moods. At eighteen she possessed an unaffected candour that had charmed and surprised him; at twenty-eight she was a successful businesswoman, and yet she seemed as natural and unaffected as she had before. Her beauty had matured and her figure had acquired a lush ripeness that enabled her to look as alluring in jeans and a sweater or in a sexy black little dress she had worn tonight.

Damon's blood stirred hotly, and his hands itched to explore and caress those new curves she had acquired. Suddenly his treacherous mind presented him with a tantalizing solution: Perhaps if he had her just one more time, he could quench this thirst for her and get her completely out of his system.

She wanted him on the project, then she had to go to bed with him.

He only wanted sex with her.

Nothing else.

Falling in love was something only a fool would do, Damon had decided.


	4. Chapter 4

_MYSTIC FALLS 2007_

 _I know you need a man who is strong enough to anchor you. A man who understands what you need, in bed and out of it. You need a man who can just look at you and get you hot. And, Elena, I also know that Matt Donovan isn't that man._

Damon was right.

Matt wasn't the man she needed. Or wanted.

Matt was the nicest guy she had ever met. They grew up together in Mystic Falls. And she had come to feel a strong affection for him but she knew she would have never lost herself in his touch or gotten high on the drug of sex when she was with him.

Being with Matt was soothing. It was calm. But she didn't want calm. She wanted electricity. She wanted to be consumed in a lightning storm, destroyed by passion. She wanted to get lost in pleasure so intense it burned away everything.

She knew Matt genuinely care about her but he would never be able to give her what she had always wanted.

Damon was different. He seemed to understand her. Elena recalled the feel of his words washing over her, the heat of his body beside her. He would have given her everything she had needed right then. The heat, the words, the understanding. He had given her a taste, but damned if she didn't want the whole meal.

Whenever she was with Damon, Elena felt the earth tilt a little beneath her. She had never reacted that way to a guy before. It was like a connection, a sizzling kind of awareness that she had never experienced before and had believed lived only in the pages of books. There was no doubt Damon was among the finest of male specimens, but never in a million years would she have anticipated her own tingling, visceral reaction to the man.

Elena had never thought she would lose control, but his desire took her right to the edge…

The Destiny seemed like the best place for a celebration. The cheerleader team had won a runner up at the state of Virginia cheerleader competition and all the girls wanted to celebrate. They wanted an adrenaline rush and Destiny had killer drink specials on weekdays and live music from some legitimately up-and-coming bands.

The inside of the club was exactly what every girls had hoped for. Dark and loud and semi-sleazy, with a crowd congregated around the bar and a mass of bodies on the dance floor. Everyone was drinking too much but Elena didn't much care. She wanted a drink. She wanted the music. And she wanted to lose herself on the dance floor, eyes closed, body moving, and her imagination running wild.

"You are on your own, Elena?" One of the girls from the cheerleader asked. "Is Matt going to join you?"

She raised a brow. "So what if I'm? Tonight is girls' night."

"We don't mind if your boyfriend turns up," the girl said, giggling. "Matt is cute."

Elena wavered between rolling eyes and turned sideways to squeeze through the crowd toward the bar. When she finally reached the polished-but-sticky oak bar, she held up her finger to get the bartender's attention.

"Damn," she cursed, after the bartender hurried by in front of her for a third time without even sparing her a glance. "What the hell?" she repeated and then pushed away from the bar when the bartender continued to ignore her.

She didn't need the drink, all she needed was the buzz, and she weaved her way onto the dance floor and edged in next to a drunk blonde who was on the verge of a wardrobe malfunction. She was dancing with two guys—or, more accurately, they were dancing with her. Her eyes were shut, her head back. As far as Elena could tell, she was entirely oblivious to their attention.

She let her body absorb the music, channelling her emotions into the pounding thrum, letting the beat blast through her as she eased in, only inches from a bruiser of a guy in black denims and leather jacket. His eyes caught hers, and he grinned, a familiar, hungry expression on his face. Because she was in that kind of mood, she danced closer, arms above her head, hips swaying. Getting close, but not touching. Teasing and playing.

Apparently, Bruiser wanted more than a tease, because he moved in. He smelled of alcohol and tobacco and lust, and though Elena wasn't the least bit interested in getting naked with him, she was more than happy to dance-flirt, feeling her blood pumping in her veins. Feeling alive. She felt alive, and when he put his hands on her waist and tugged her close, she closed her eyes and gyrated to the music. She wasn't there with this guy. She was somewhere else. With someone else.

Elena pressed her body hard against his. He let out a low moan of pleasure and cupped her ass, pulling her tight against him so that there was no mistaking his arousal.

She drew in a breath and tilted her head back. She saw the lust in his eyes. Saw the way his lips curved. He was bending close, either to claim her mouth or to whisper that we needed to get the hell out of there. She didn't want him, this stranger. She only wanted fun and excitement.

She stiffened, anticipating his words, and knowing damn well that if she had said yes to whatever he suggested—and then she would hate herself tomorrow.

And then it all shattered.

Elena heard herself cry out as the bruiser was shoved roughly aside—and then heard her gasp of surprise when she saw the man who had so cavalierly tossed him away. Damon.

She stood there, completely frozen, as Damon stepped closer to her, his expression thunderous. But beneath the anger in his eyes she saw a heat that shot through her belly to settle between her thighs. Damn. This was it, her fantasy, and while part of me leaped with celebration, another part wondered when the hell she had started hallucinating. Because this couldn't be real. How the hell could this possibly be real?

"What do you think you are doing, friend?" Bruiser snarled, giving Damon's shoulder a shove and soundly destroying her theory that she was living in some sort of dream state. "You want to get away from my girl?"

Elena started to say that she was most definitely not his girl, but the brimstone rose in Damon's eyes and she opted for the wiser course and stayed quiet.

"She is not your girl," Damon said mildly. "And I'm not your friend."

Bruiser's eyes narrowed and she saw the fingers of his right hand curl into a fist. "I think you need a lesson in manners, pretty boy."

Damon glanced down at the now-fisted hand, then back up to the man. "I would think twice if I were you."

"Damn you," Bruiser retorted, sending the fist flying as fast as the words.

In a move worthy of James Bond, Damon shifted, blocking the punch entirely. "I wouldn't try that again." He appeared casual and cool—and yet there was something in his manner that announced that he was the biggest badass in the room. And that he would prove it to anyone who crossed him.

Bruiser's balance had been thrown off and he stumbled a bit, eyeing the nearby dancers who had finally clued in that there was trouble. He licked his lips, and Elena could see common sense warring with bravado. Finally, his face went slack and he carelessly rolled a shoulder. "Whatever, man. Bitch isn't worth the trouble, anyway."

Faster than Elena would have imagined possible, Damon reached out, snagged the guy's collar, and hauled him close. "Apologize to the lady," he said, his words like ice. "And maybe you will get to walk out of here on your own power."

As she watched, the blood drained from Bruiser's face, giving him a gaunt, half-dead appearance. "Sure. Sure, shit. I didn't mean anything by it. Just being an asshole. Sorry, babe."

His pleading eyes shifted back to Damon who, with a look of total contempt, gave him one quick shake and turned him loose. "Get the hell out of here."

As soon as Bruiser disappeared into the wash of bodies, Elena rounded on Damon. "What the hell?"

Damon stood as calm as if he were standing in a lecture hall giving a presentation. "He is an asshole."

"So?" she said, she was hardly going to argue the point. "I was dancing with him, not marrying him."

He took a step closer to her, and despite her irritation, her pulse kicked into high gear. "And now you are not doing either," he said.

"Oh." The word escaped her lips, more breath than sound. It wasn't even the sound she wanted to make. What she wanted was to ask why. Why was he here? Why had he shoved the guy away?

"He was dangerous, Elena," Damon said, leading her to the edge of the dance floor. "And what the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

Her eyes snapped to his face, and the words were out before she could think better of them. "Maybe I like dangerous men."

He hesitated only a heartbeat before replying, but even if he had planned the words for a year, he couldn't have cut her deeper. "Maybe you shouldn't."

Without thinking, Elena lashed out, intending to slap his face. She didn't make it. He caught her wrist and pulled her close until she was mere millimetres from him, the heat from their bodies so intense she feared she might spontaneously combust.

He stood a full head taller than her, and he had her so close that her lips were almost pressed to the indentation at the base of his neck. He smelled like sin and despite how riled up she was, she had to fight the urge to sneak her tongue out and taste him.

He bent his head, his breath brushing over the top of her ear as he whispered to her. "I get it," he said simply.

Elena went completely stiff. "What exactly do you get?"

"That you want this."

She felt frozen and her breath caught in her throat. Somehow, she managed to force her words out. "What do you mean?"

Something brushed her hair, and though she couldn't know for certain, she imagined it was his lips. For a moment he didn't answer, just held her. The thrum of the music pounding through her had nothing on the surge of blood through her veins. She wanted to stay like that forever. Lost in a forest of the senses. Lost in his arms.

This was what she had craved. Not the club or the music or the alcohol, but this. The man who held her in his arms.

Elena swallowed again. Part of her was afraid to speak for fear of breaking this spell. But another part of her had to know. "Damon?" she finally whispered, not at all certain he would be able to hear her over the roar of the club around them. "What do you get?"

"You," he said simply, and though it couldn't possibly be true, right then it was the best thing he could have said to her. "You want this. You want to feel alive."

"Alive," she said hoarsely.

"Yes, alive," he said, and she felt a shiver run through her because she knew it was true. He knew.

Elena didn't understand how, but he got it. Everything that Matt couldn't see in her, Damon did.

She eased back so that she could tilt her head up, and found those blues eyes on her. Wolf's eyes, she had thought earlier, and the analogy was even more apt now. She saw danger there. Hunger. As if he would gleefully eat her alive.

And oh, dear god, she wanted him to. "Why are you here?" she whispered.

"This is my club. I have to make sure there is no trouble here."

"So you are just looking out for me?" She held his eyes, drawing courage from the need she saw reflected back at her. "Or are you interested in helping with lift-off?"

His words were slow and measured. "It is never wise for a princess to tease a dragon."

"Who says I'm teasing?"

"It is not wise to tempt one, either."

"Why not?" Her voice was breathy and full of need.

"Dragons burn. And the wounds leave scars."

"What if I don't care?"

He didn't answer, but his eyes darkened and Elena knew damn well that he wanted this, too.

"Damon." She didn't realize that she had spoken his name aloud until she heard her own voice, soft and low like a plea.

He shook his head slowly. "No."

The word was firm and insistent—and Elena didn't believe it for a second. This was her chance. Her one shining, sparkling moment. She shouldn't push—she knew that. Hadn't she already told herself that this was a line she shouldn't cross? That she needed to keep myself in check. That she needed to not push that envelope.

But dammit all, when she looked at his face, she knew without a doubt that she wanted Damon. She was absolutely certain that he wouldn't hurt her.

Fear and desire and an odd unwelcome shyness twisted inside of her. She was risking everything but she couldn't stop. She had to have him. At the very least, she had to try. "Please," she said simply.

"I stopped being reckless years ago," Damon said, his tone firm and determined. "That shit gets you in trouble."

Elena swallowed. Every ounce of reason told her that he was right—that she needed to take a step back. That she needed to stop, to go home, to count to ten. To calm the fuck down.

She didn't do any of that. Instead, she took a step closer. "So now you are all about control?"

A muscle in his cheek twitched. "Yes," he said simply, but Elena knew that he was fighting to hold it together. She could see the tension in him, and a surge of feminine satisfaction cut through her because she knew with absolute certainty that if she pushed him, he would break.

Elena reached out, then gently pressed her palm to his chest. She felt wild. Hell, she felt reckless—and the irony really wasn't lost on her. "All right," she said, tilting her head up to meet his hard, heated gaze. "In that case, control me."

"Holy crap, Elena," he growled, and Elena knew that she had won.

"Damon." That one soft word was like taking a match to dynamite, and she saw the fire ignite inside him. His hand slid around to her lower back and he yanked her close. She pressed against him, so hot with need it was a wonder she wasn't reduced to ashes. She felt the hard length of his erection press against her and thought she might cry, simply from the knowledge that he was as desperate for her as she was for him.

She had truly never felt anything like this. As if each vein, each hair, each atom inside her existed for no purpose other than to spread pleasure through her. So much pleasure that she wasn't sure she could withstand the force of it. This was everything she had wanted. Everything she had imagined she would feel when Damon finally touched her. But it was so fast and so hard and so overwhelming that she was on the verge of exploding.

Either that or stripping off her clothes and pulling him down to the floor right then and there.

And that probably wasn't the most prudent of plans.

Breathing hard, Elena backed away, increasing the space between their bodies. She saw the question on his face, the dark disapproval at their broken connection, and before that could shift to regret, or prudence or responsibility, she moved back to him, pressing her body against his torso and her hands over his ass. The man in front of her wore only simple Levis and an even simpler grey T-shirt but he still looked absolutely gorgeous.

He looked young and hot and sexy, and once again Elena was blown away by the fact that he was here. With her. A very literal fantasy come true.

She felt the quick rhythm of his heartbeat and knew that he was real. She swayed against him, moving in time with the music—and then realized that Damon wasn't doing the same. "Dance with me," she pleaded, edging toward the dance floor.

His gaze raked slowly over her, leaving her feeling fully exposed and very needy. "I don't dance."

"Oh." Her chest tightened, and suddenly she was afraid that all this—whatever "this" was—was going away.

Then his mouth curved up into a slow, sensual grin and he slid his hands along her waist and over her hips, the friction making a flurry of sparks between them. "But I think you are doing a good enough job for the both of us."

"Yeah?"

"Dance for me, Elena." His voice was low and firm, and the command she heard was undeniable.

She had been doing exactly that, but now her moves seemed more sensual, more erotic.

She was aware of Damon's eyes on her, the heat of his gaze burning through her, giving her confidence to flirt, to beg, to tease in time with the music. Never had she been more aware of her body—or of the effect she was having on a man.

Damn Matt or her father for what they had wanted or feared or forbidden. Right then Elena didn't care. There was no way in hell she was letting Damon Salvatore get away from her tonight. She needed this. Hell, she needed him.

And if the way he was watching her was any indication, she was pretty sure he needed her, too.

She danced even closer, her breasts brushing his chest, one arm going around his neck. She eased herself up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his ear. "There are all sorts of ways to dance," she murmured, as she cupped her free hand over his crotch and felt the hard steel of his erection straining against his jeans. "So, tell me, Damon. Are you sure you don't want to dance with me?"

His eyes went dark, and Elena was afraid that she had pushed him too far. That he was going to blink, and then they would suddenly be just two people on a dance floor in a bar without this heat, this tug, pulling them together.

Then his hands cupped the back of her neck and he pulled her in closer. She gasped, breathing in the scent of arousal, his and her own. He bent his head and a shudder cut through her as he nipped, just a little too hard, at her earlobe.

"I swear to god, Elena, you are like Kryptonite—you are trying to break me." He pulled back, moving his hands to either side of her head, his fingers twining through her hair as he held her just a little too tight, keeping her completely locked in his grasp.

She was breathing hard, her body primed. Her lips parted ever so slightly and she tried to lean in, drawn like a magnet to the energy of this man. He held her fast, though, and she knew in that moment that whatever edge she thought she held over Damon Salvatore was a tenuous thing. He could turn the tables on her whenever he wanted to. Hell yes, he was dangerous. And right then, he was hers.

"I have done a lot of fucked up shit," he said. "But this—right here, right now—this may be the worst."

Elena tried to shake her head, but he still held firm. "I don't believe that," she said. "I know you have a good heart."

"No, I don't. I'm bad, I'm bad for you, Elena."

"No, you are not."

"Yes, I'm." He slid one hand around to cup the back of her head, keeping her steady as he moved his other hand so that his thumb could brush gently over her lower lip. Automatically, Elena opened her mouth, her breath coming in soft, shuddering gasps even as a shiver ran through her entire body. There was no hiding anything from him now, and she didn't want to. The air between them was thick with heat and lust, and though she stood fully clothed in front of him, she had never felt more exposed in her life than she did in that moment.

The edge of his thumb continued to torment her lip. He eased it inside her mouth, just barely, and though some tiny, rebellious part of her wanted to play it cool, there was no way that was going to happen. She closed her lips around him, her tongue tasting, her lips sucking.

Elena shut her eyes, hyperaware of the heaviness in her breasts and the demanding throbbing in her cunt. She moaned, not quite able to believe that she could be this turned on when the only physical contact between them was his thumb in her mouth and his hand in her hair.

"If you knew what I wanted to do with you right now, you would run." His voice was low and edgy and as sharp as a blade, and it cut right through her, leaving her wide open and vulnerable.

She tried to respond but couldn't seem to make sounds. With supreme willpower, she tried again, and somehow managed to form words. "I'm not running."

His eyes were dark. Stormy. And Elena could see the battle raging across his features. His face was cast in shadows, giving him an even more dangerous appearance, and for just a moment she wasn't certain if she wanted him to win the battle, or lose it.

Then it didn't matter, because his fingers tightened in her hair, pulling her roughly to him in the split second before his mouth captured hers. Around them, other dancers hooted and whistled, but she barely heard them over the rush of blood pounding in her ears.

Elena parted her lips, and his tongue swept into her mouth, claiming her. He tasted decadent, like the finest of chocolates, the headiest of liquors. She clutched tight to him, her fingers lost in the silky waves of his hair, her body pressed against him. She felt lighter than air, and it was a good thing he held her so tight, because if he had let go she would probably have floated all the way up to the ceiling.

The kiss was hard and wild, nipping and teasing. She tasted blood and didn't care. She wanted to feel everything, to give everything. To take everything. She felt frantic, as if she needed it all—every bit of his touch, his emotion, his being—because if she stopped or blinked or backed off, it might all go away. This might turn out to be a dream. A mistake. A fantasy.

She didn't think that she could handle that. He was like a drug, and now that she had tasted him, she knew that she could never give him up.

He pulled away from her then, his breath hard and shallow. She whimpered in protest, terrified that this was it. But her fear dissipated when she looked into his eyes. They weren't stopping. Hell, if she went by the fire she saw burning in his eyes, she didn't think they would ever stop.

For a breathless eternity, they just stared at each other, and she imagined getting drawn into him, lost in his eyes. Melding and merging and never doing without this feeling again. Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain that everyone could see the movement of her dress in time with her pulse. She wanted to beg for him to touch her again, to kiss her again, but at the same time she didn't want him to stop looking at her, because under Damon's gaze she felt more alive and real and solid than she had in years.

Elena didn't know if they stood like that for hours or seconds. She was deaf to the music, blind to the crowd. There was only Damon, watching her. Wanting her.

He broke first, taking her hand and tugging her impatiently across the dance floor. She went willingly, following him down a dark hallway to a propped open fire door. He kicked it all the way open, then tugged her outside into a dimly lit alley. Immediately, she was accosted by the stench of stale beer and French fries, but she really didn't care. Alley or five-star hotel, it didn't matter to her. All she wanted was this man. This moment. All she wanted was to surrender.

Elena remembered her frustration with Matt, but that wasn't a problem with Damon. He took what he wanted, giving what she needed. Power, control, intensity.

In one motion, he had her back against the alley wall, his arms caging her.

"Dear god, Elena. You are beautiful."

"Damon." That single word was all she could manage. The only sound she could push out past the swarm of emotions clogging my throat.

"Do you have any idea how long I—"

"What?" Elena demanded when he cut himself short. Her word was a whisper, a plea. Hell, it was a prayer.

"I'm sorry," he said, and fear shot through her, making her cold. "Christ, I'm so damn sorry."

Elena reached out and clutched his T-shirt, refusing to let him walk away. It was only when she did that she realized that he wasn't walking and the apology wasn't meant for me. Or maybe it was. She didn't know, and she didn't care, because whatever he was doing or apologizing for or thinking about, it had nothing to do with leaving. She figured that out from the hard and fast way his mouth came down on hers, the way his knee edged between her legs. The way his proximity thickened the air between them, making it warm and liquid and sensual and safe.

He broke the kiss long enough to meet her eyes. His were dark with passion. Her eyes, she was sure, were wide with wonder and delight.

She opened her mouth to speak, though she didn't know what she intended to say.

He shook his head, then brushed a soft kiss over her lips. "Don't talk. Don't even think."

Elena shook her head, then nodded, then shook it again. Don't think? Hell, she couldn't think. Not then, and certainly not when his lips brushed her temple and his hand closed over her breast. Then, all she could do was gasp.

His thumb brushed over her nipple, now hard behind her bra. What the hell had she been thinking? She should have burned the thing. Worn lace. Worn nothing at all.

"Damn clothes," he murmured, and Elena almost laughed with delight at how in sync their thoughts were. That bubble of laughter, however, soon faded in the wake of the words that followed. That smooth masculine voice telling her he wanted to touch her, to drag his teeth over her nipples, to tug her skirt up and her panties down so that his fingers could cup and stroke her.

No, it wasn't laughter that bubbled inside her anymore. Instead, it was molten lava. Hot. Thick. She wanted to bathe in it. To melt under his touch. To let him take her wherever he wanted to go.

Elena sighed with pleasure, her hips shifting in response to his words. Her back arching in silent demand for more of his touch. More of him.

"Damon," she said again, only this time it wasn't a name, it was a plea. Hell, it was a command.

His fingers twined in her hair, and he tugged, forcing her to tilt her head back and look at his face. She felt drugged and woozy, all the more so when she looked at the deep blue of his eyes, soft with lust.

"Elena," he said, his voice flat and almost sad. She saw the lust fade from his eyes, replaced by something hot and hard. Before she even had time to fully process this change in him, he released her hair and smacked the brick wall behind her. Elena jumped, surprised and confused by this change in him.

"Goddammit," he said. And then, more gently, "God, I'm an asshole."

She shook her head, denying his words and his actions. She didn't want him to stop, and she didn't understand why he was.

No, that was not true. She understood it—but she just wanted it to go away. The world around them. They were from two different worlds. But she didn't care. Not now. Not now when the fire that burned between them would render everything else to ashes?

"Tell me, Damon." Her voice was low. Breathy, but determined. "You said if I knew what you wanted, I would run. So, tell me, dammit, because I'm not running yet."

"Tell you?" he repeated, his voice rough and uneven, as if he wanted to hold back but couldn't. "Tell you how I want to strip you bare? How I want your breasts to fill my hands, your nipples pinched between my fingertips until you cry out in pleasure and in pain?"

Elena shuddered, her nipples tightening simply from the promise of his words.

"Or should I tell you how I want to feel the sting of my bare hand on your naked ass until your cheeks are red and your cunt glistens." He leaned in closer, his whisper ragged at her ear. "I want you naked, Elena. Naked and bound and wet for me. I want your legs wide and your body exposed. I want to see you. Hell, I want to feast on you. I want my mouth on you, my tongue driving you mad. I don't want you to know a goddamn thing except me and the pleasure I bring you. And I want to watch the way your eyes go bright when I finally let you come."

She was breathing hard, her panties soaked, her thighs damp and trembling. His words shocked her, yes. But they also turned her on.

She leaned back, increasing the distance between them infinitesimally, but only because she had no choice. It was either find support against the rough brick wall or collapse to the ground, her body no longer quite able to hold here upright.

The second she edged back though, a shadow crossed his face. "Like I said, I'm an asshole."

Despite the fact that he had completely undone her—despite the fact that every bone, muscle, and tendon in her body had turned to jelly—she somehow managed the smallest shake of her head and the tiniest noise. "No."

She drew in a gasping breath, then said more forcefully, "No. I'm not running. I'm not going anywhere." She licked her suddenly dry lips and glanced down at the ground, embarrassment overtaking her. But not enough to cripple her. Not even close.

Traffic rushed by at the end of the alley and the pulse of music filtered through the thick walls of the club. None of that noise penetrated, though. The alley seemed still and quiet, as if the world had quit turning and everything—her existence, Damon's, the whole damn universe—was stuck in limbo until she spoke again.

Elena steeled her shoulders. "Damon, everything you just said…I—I want it, too."

Her cheeks were so hot she was certain they must be flashing as red as neon, and she kept her eyes down, afraid that if she looked up and saw him she might spontaneously combust.

"Elena. Oh, Jesus, Elena" He took her head in his hands, his fingers sliding into her thick tangle of hair as he tilted her face up to see his. "You completely unwind me." There was such intensity in his voice that it sounded almost painful, and the tenor of his desire shook her to the core. "Tell me you want me. Tell me you want this." The words were rough and urgent. "I need to hear you say it."

"I want you," Elena said, the words sounding inadequate against the complexity of the emotions behind them.

For a moment, he held her gaze, as if he was searching her face for some sort of deception. She didn't flinch. She knew what he saw in her—himself, reflected right back.

Damon stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb, the sweetness of the gesture in stark contrast to the rawness of all the things he had said he wanted to do with her. But somehow, that simple touch made her melt even more.

He was everything Elena had ever wanted. Everything she needed. Hell, he was more than she could have imagined. And in that moment, she knew she would do anything to keep him there with her.

"I want you," she repeated. "I want this."

"This?" he repeated, then leaned in to brush a trail of feather-soft kisses down her neck, then along her collarbone. His touch was lighter than air, and yet it pounded through her like the steady, rhythmic thrum of a bass drum building to a crescendo.

"Or maybe this?" He ran his hands down her arms, then twined their fingers together. He pressed his body tight against her as his mouth sought hers, his tongue demanding entrance as he thrust their arms out to the side as if readying to take flight. He deepened the kiss, exploring with his tongue, delighting her with his teeth, nibbling on her lips. And as he did, he slowly manoeuvred their arms up until hers were completely above her head and he gently released his fingers from hers. "Or maybe this is what you want," he said, manipulating her hands so that she was clutching her own wrist above her head.

"Damon, I…"

"No." He brushed his lips over her ear, his voice so low Elena had to strain to hear him. "No talking. No moving. The arms stay up, the hands together. Nod if you understand me."

She licked her lips.

"Nod," he repeated.

She nodded, so lost in him that if he had told her to strip naked and spread her legs right then, she thought she would have done it, and eagerly. She was that much in thrall to him.

Yeah, he was dangerous all right—but damn me, it was that danger that she craved.

"Good girl," he said, then brushed the gentlest of kisses over her lips. "And I think we have found what you want, princess," he added, closing his hands over hers.

Elena drew in a shuddering breath, because he was right. He had her trapped—maybe not by reality, but by the promise of her own obedience. The result was the same. She was desperately, hopelessly turned on.

"You like this," he said. "You are open to me—open to the world. Down and dirty with me in an alley where anything could happen." Once again, he leaned in to whisper. Once again, she was struck by how well he knew her. "This excites you, doesn't it? Not knowing where we are going next. What's going to happen. Who might turn that corner. Not knowing if I'm going to kiss you or make love to you." He paused, and his next words made her moan aloud. "I will give you a hint, Elena. I'm going to do both."

Elena hadn't noticed when he had removed one of his hands from where he gripped hers, but she noticed now that he was trailing his fingers up her thigh, slowly lifting the hem of her skirt as his hand rose higher and higher.

She whimpered a little, but the hand on hers held fast, and he shook his head. One tiny motion. No.

She closed her eyes and surrendered to both the unspoken command and to her own overpowering need to revel in the exhilaration of this moment. He had her pinned against the wall, held in place by his large hand cupped around her wrists. His body was so close to hers she could feel his heat. And his hand was rising higher and higher toward her now-soaked panties, her throbbing clit, and her cunt that was slick with arousal.

Every scrap of reason inside her was screaming that she needed to open her eyes and tell him no. That she needed to walk away. That this was a bad idea and that she knew better and hadn't she told herself over and over that it was a bad idea to let herself go wild? That nothing good ever came of it.

That she would regret it in the morning.

But Elena didn't regret it then. Not one little bit.

She shifted her stance and spread her legs wider—and she was rewarded by his low, sensual growl of approval. Slowly, his fingertip traced the edge of her panties, easing down the side of the V that covered her pubic bone. She whimpered as he teased her mercilessly, his finger grazing over silk and elastic, the edge of his skin barely brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.

"Frustrated, beautiful?" he murmured.

Her head was back, her breathing fast. "Are you insane?" In her head, she was screaming. In real life, Elena could barely formulate words. "Jesus, Damon. Please."

He spread his fingers so that now he was teasing the indention at the juncture of both her thighs, his strokes light but firm. And never, ever touching the soft flesh beneath the silk or brushing over her tight, demanding clit.

Elena struggled to pull her hands free, desperate to finish what they had started. But he held her fast, and she wanted to shout curses, to make demands, to drop down on her knees and beg. But it was all she could do to draw breath as her body shuddered, every nerve, every sensation pooled between her legs in anticipation of a touch that he seemed determined not to give her.

"Please, what?" he asked, as she dragged her teeth over her lower lip.

"Please," she repeated. "Please everything."

His low, satisfied chuckle washed over her, teasing her skin with as much sensuality as if he were trailing a feather over her.

"Touch me," Elena demanded.

He bent closer so that his breath tickled her cheek. "I am touching you."

She wiggled her hips in unspoken demand. "You know what I mean."

"I do," he said. "But I want to hear you say it." He drew his tongue up the edge of her ear, and Elena bit down on her lip for fear that if she didn't she would cry out in both pleasure and frustration.

"I want—" she swallowed and tried again. "I want you inside my panties."

To his credit, he complied, and she sighed with pleasure as his fingers stroked her slick, swollen flesh. She was completely bare, having recently discovered Brazilian waxes, and the way his finger slid over her wet flesh was driving her completely insane.

He didn't, however, touch her clit, and so she had no relief for the desperate, pounding growing need that was building inside her.

She moved her hips, trying without words to let him know exactly what she wanted.

"Demanding thing, aren't you?" he teased.

"Dammit, Damon, you are being exceptionally mean."

"Maybe." He stroked his finger lightly over her clit, and her entire body lit up. "But I'm damn sure enjoying myself." He slipped his fingers inside her, and Elena gasped as her muscles tightened around him, drawing him in. "That's it, baby. That is what you want, isn't it? You want to be touched."

She clenched her hands into fists, managing to gather enough self-possession to say, "You are just figuring that out?"

He laughed softly, but whatever amusement she had felt in the wake of her comment faded under the slow, rhythmic assault of his hands upon her body, sliding deeper and deeper, leaving her breathless and anxious and so very, very close.

When he drew his hand free, she actually whimpered, and when he slid his fingertip—wet with her arousal—between her lips, she moaned and took him in, closing her eyes as she sucked and teased, imagining it was his cock in her mouth.

"Dear god, that is hot," he whispered. He moved closer, and Elena felt the press of his erection against her belly, tight and hard beneath the denim of his jeans. "I want you, Elena. I want to yank your skirt up and rip these damn panties off. I want to bury myself inside you and watch your face while you come."

She said nothing, only drew him in deeper and relished the soft sound of his own, responsive groan.

"But not here—not in an alley." He drew his finger from her mouth, and her eyes fluttered open. "I'm taking you home. I'm going to make love you, Elena, but I'm going to do it properly. Say yes, baby."

Elena nodded.

"I want to hear it."

Stupidly, she nodded again. "Yes," she said, after fighting to regain the power of thought.

"Good girl." He gave her a moment to recover the ability to walk, then led her toward the street where, she presumed, he had parked.

They had only taken two steps toward the intersection of the alley and the street when a shadow fell across the sidewalk, followed quickly by a form that Elena recognized. Bruiser.

A second guy flanked him, tall and lean, with the kind of sauntering walk that told the world he could beat the crap out of just about anyone.

A shock of panic—hard and fast and cold—shot through Elena. How could this have happened? She never let her guard down when she was outside, and sure as hell not in a dark alley. And yet she had been totally unaware of everything. She had seen nothing, heard nothing, noticed nothing. From the moment they exited the club, there had been only Damon She had let herself go with him—she had let herself gone wild—and everything had gone to hell. Damn.

"He the one that horned in on your girl?" the lean guy asked.

"My girl? More like my slut." Bruiser aimed his beady eyes at Elena. "What would your mamma say about you doing the nasty in a dark alley with that son of a bitch?"

"Damn you," Elena snapped. Or, at least, she tried to. Instead, the words stuck in her throat, trapped there when she spied the glint of the knife in Bruiser's hand. A chill crept over her entire body, icy fingers trailing up her spine. She sucked in air, and tasted salt water. She closed her eyes, and saw blood.

This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening.

Elena didn't realize that she had taken a step backward until she felt Damon's hand closing tight around hers, locking her in place. She froze, taking shallow breaths, trying to concentrate only on the reassuring feel of his hold upon her.

He was order to her chaos, calm to her storm. Fear might have her tight in its grip, but Damon slipped out of its fist like butter. The alley—hell, the whole damn situation—was his to command.

"I think you owe the lady an apology," he said smoothly.

"Fuck you."

"I'd really rather not," Damon said. "Now get the hell out of my way." His voice was hard, his manner equally so. He took a single step toward them, forcing her to take a corresponding one. Elena bit her lower lip, then tasted blood. She saw Bruiser's mouth moving, but she couldn't make out the words. Though she knew she was looking at this dark alley, what she saw was the barnacled posts beneath the pier. What she heard was the crash of the ocean against the beach. It was as if she had fallen into a nightmare.

Then Bruiser lunged, leading with the knife, and the sharp pierce of a scream ripped her back into reality. It took a second before Elena realized that it was her scream, and that in that minuscule amount of time, Damon had released her hand, raised his arm, and managed to block the oncoming knife.

"Shit, Chris!" the lean guy shouted as Damon twisted Chris-the-Bruiser's arm behind his back and wrested the knife free.

"Bastard!" Chris snarled, but he didn't struggle, and from where Elena stood she could see why—considering Damon's grip, if Chris even breathed wrong, his arm was going to snap.

"You fucked up bad, pretty boy," the lean guy spat, already in motion with his own knife tight in his hand.

In the kind of move that Hollywood directors probably spent weeks choreographing, Damon shoved Chris aside, spun toward the lean guy, knocked his knife arm out of the way, then thrust the tip of the knife he had taken off Chris into the flesh at the base of the lean guy's throat. Chris cursed and sprinted down the alley, leaving his buddy to Damon's mercy.

Damon didn't even spare him a glance, his attention focused entirely on the lean guy with the knife still twitching in his hand. "Give me a reason," Damon said. "Give me just one reason, and I will slice through you like butter."

"Fuck you."

"Wrong reason." In a move too fast for Elena to see how it happened, Damon yanked the guy into a clench, his face a wash of rage. Now the length of his blade was pressed to the lean guy's throat. She saw a single drop of blood trail down his neck. "All I have to do is flick my wrist," Damon whispered, the voice so soft and menacing it seemed to be inside her head instead of spoken.

The guy's eyes were squeezed tight, and the knife he still held clattered to the pavement. Elena caught the pungent scent of urine and knew that he had wet himself.

She heard a soft noise, like the cry of a child. At first she thought it came from the man in Damon's arms. Then she realized it came from her.

She saw Damon's muscles stiffen, saw the shift of expressions on his face, the way he brought the rage down. The way his chest rose and fell as he looked at here and gathered himself. Slowly—very slowly—he drew the knife away, and Elena couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if she had stayed quiet. The thought should have terrified her. It didn't. This was Damon, and she knew he would do whatever it took to protect her.

"Get the hell out of here," Damon said, his voice like the low roll of thunder.

The guy didn't waste any time. He took off down the alley, practically tripping over himself in the process.

Slowly, Damon moved to the trash bin and tossed the knife in. Then he came towards her, moving gingerly, as if she were a wounded animal. Elena didn't understand the reason for his tentative approach until he crouched in front of her. Only then did she realize that she had slid to the ground, her knees pulled tight to her chest.

"Hey," he said, his voice as gentle as she had ever heard it. "It's okay. You are okay." He reached out and stroked my hair. "They have gone. They are not going to hurt me, and I would kill them before I would let them hurt you."

She nodded, thankful for his touch. The pitching, tossing waves inside her began to settle into soft, undulating swells.

She reached out a hand for him to help her up, but he shook his head. "No. I have got you."

Before Elena could protest, he had his arms under her legs and behind her back. She thought she should protest, but she couldn't quite work up the desire. Instead, she curled against him, letting his steady strength soothe the rawness of her memories.

She had no idea where it came from, but the moment they emerged from the alley onto the street, a familiar-looking black BMW pulled to the curb. A burly man with arms as thick as her thighs hurried out and opened the back door for Damon, who moved gingerly as he placed her on the soft leather.

"Don't go," she whispered, as the icy prickles and hard knots of fear began to return.

"Never," he said, as he slid in beside her. And then Elena was in his arms again, safe and warm. She curled up next to him, her eyes closed. She heard the door slam, then the sound of Damon's palm against the back of the front seat. A signal to go, she realized, because the next thing she felt was motion and power as the BMW pulled out onto the street.

Damon said nothing, and for that Elena was grateful. She didn't want to talk. Didn't want to explain. She didn't even want to be reassured. All she wanted was for him to hold her, and he did that, his arm around her, his fingers idly stroking her upper arm. Her head rested on his shoulder, and though she thought she felt his lips brush over her hair, she couldn't be sure, as she didn't have the strength to lift her head and look at him.

She was tired. Her body drained, her muscles limp. Everything was coming at her too damn fast. Elena didn't want anything but the feel of Damon's arms around her, and if she had her way, she would have stayed like that, held tight in the warmth of his embrace, forever.


	5. Chapter 5

_MYSTIC FALLS 2017_

Tonight, Elena was broken. And she was willing to fix herself the only way she knew how.

As usual, there was a line, but it moved fast, and soon enough she was through the doors, trading the traffic sounds and lights for a raucous techno-beat and the violent pop of purple, white, and blue lights shifting and changing over a dance floor full of writhing, throbbing bodies. There, she thought, and started to edge herself through the crowd.

The Destiny was still a popular club but she hadn't been here since Damon left. Tonight she wanted to be here. She had to be here.

She scanned faces as she went, searching for the right one. Because this wasn't about dancing. It was about shaking off this entire horrible day. It was about erasing her memories and pain.

Mostly, it was about proving that she was no longer some weak little girl to be intimidated and frightened.

It was more than that, too, and Elena damn well knew it. This was about Damon. About the way he blew her off. About the way he touched her. And about the goddamn devil's bargain he tried to toss at her.

A bargain that Elena knew damn well she couldn't take.

She was on the dance floor, hands in the air and her hips moving in time with the music when she saw him. Not Damon—not even close, really. But he was tall and he was dark and right then, that was good enough. He was standing by the stage, not dancing, but bouncing a little. He was holding a highball glass with what looked like watered down whiskey, and every few moments, he took a sip. She danced her way over to him, getting up close and personal with a few other candidates in the process, then pause in front of the one she picked.

"You are doing it all wrong," Elena said.

He cupped his hand by his ear. "What?"

She leaned close so that her lips are almost brushing his temple. "I said, you are doing it all wrong."

"Doing what?"

Elena took the glass out of his hand and set it on a nearby speaker. "Dancing," she said, as she grabbed both of his hands with her own. "I will show you how to do it right."

She led him out onto the floor, not giving him a chance to protest. They slid in among other sweaty, pulsing couples. Touching, flirting, getting dangerously close and then pulling away. The mating dance of the young and single, and the man and she were going at it in full force. Building and building, hands to hands, hips to hips. And when Elena looked at his face and saw that he wanted her, she knew it was time for step two.

Breathing hard, she moved in close and hook her arms around his neck. "So, what is your name?"

"Liam Davis. What is yours?"

Elena shook her head. "Nope, that is not the way we play this game, Liam."

"What game?"

But all she did was smiled and gave him her hand. "Do you have a car nearby?"

"I—oh, yeah. Yeah, I sure do."

She let him led her out of the club, then across the street to a pay-to-park lot. He stopped in front of a sporty grey Lexus. "Nice ride," she said, easing in so that his back was against the car. Her palms were flat against his chest. "What else have you got for me that is nice?"

Elena pressed close, revelling in that rush of satisfaction when she felt him hard against her. She didn't want him—not really—but she did want this. The control. The power. The knowing that whatever she gave or took tonight was because she was giving or she was taking. It had been years since she had needed to feel that so tangibly, but dammit all to hell, she needed it tonight.

"I think we need a bed, Liam, don't you?"

"Hell yes," he said, then pushed her back and spin her around so that it was her back against the car and he had crushed up against her. He was breathing hard, leaning in for a kiss, but she only turned her head.

"Not just yet," she said, because she was the one in control tonight. But then she gasped as Liam was ripped away from her, the look of shock on his face almost comic as he stumbled backward, and then landed on his ass a good two yards away.

"Not just yet?" Damon growled. "Try not ever." He grabbed her hand and yanked her to him with such force that she fell against him. His arm went immediately around her waist and despite Elena's shock and anger—despite her embarrassment—she couldn't help the wash of both relief and longing that crashed over her like a wave.

And she couldn't believe it was happening again. It was just exactly like that nigh ten years ago when Damon fist kissed her.

But she didn't want to be relieved, and so she shoved violently back from him, burying the depth of her discomfort under the force of her words. "What the hell? What the hell do you think you are doing?"

He ignored her, but aimed his finger at Liam. "You. Get the fuck out of here."

Liam's eyes darted sideways—not to her so much as to the car. Then he sort of crab-walked backward before stumbling to his feet and holding his hands up in supplication. "Hey, man, she—"

"Go," Damon said.

Liam obeyed, racing across to the far side of the parking lot.

As soon as he disappeared into the shadows, Damon grabbed her arms. He yanked her towards him, so close they were breathing each other's air. He was vibrating with fury, and for a moment Elena couldn't tell if he wanted to kiss her or hit her.

He did neither.

She saw the struggle played out on his face, and then he slammed her backward against Liam's car. "What the hell are you doing?" he demanded. "You want danger? Try me, Elena, because you have no idea how dangerous I can be." He tightened his grip on her arms. "Or maybe you want anonymous? Me again—because if you think you know me, princess, I promise you don't."

"Damon…"

"No." He released one hand long enough to run his fingers through his hair, then pushed roughly back from her, breaking their connection completely. Elena pressed her hands against the side of the car, forcing herself to stay put, to stay still. Because goddamn her all to hell, in that moment she truly didn't know if she wanted to slap the shit out of him or wrap herself in his arms.

"You really think you can come back after all this time and bat your lashes and have me fall backward over myself to help you out?"

"It's not like that. I—"

"You and I are done. We are done, princess," he said, lifting a finger toward her face. "You told me to leave, sweetheart. And ten years later you fall back into my life. And pretty goddamn dramatically, too."

Elena licked her lips. "It is just business."

"The hell it is." She heard the sharp edge of emotion in his voice, as dangerous as a well-honed blade. The fight was obvious on his face, as well, and she pressed back against the car, wishing she could disappear through the metal. He was fire and fury, and Elena had no idea what he was going to do. All she knew was that all that passion was directed toward her, and that no matter what happened, she wouldn't leave this parking lot unscathed.

She saw it in his eyes first—a quick flash of wildness before his hand lashed out and his palm slammed hard against the Lexus. Then he pulled her close, and she didn't even have time to think before his mouth closes over hers.

The kiss was violent. Wild and desperate. And when she gasped, Damon took advantage, thrusting his tongue into her mouth as one hand held her head and the other slid up her chest to cup her breast. He deepened the kiss, claiming her with such intensity that she knew she would not be standing were it not for his hands upon hers.

The thin material of her dress did little to hide the heat of his hand, and even less to hide her arousal. Her breast was heavy and with every stroke of his thumb against her painfully erect nipple, Elena wanted to beg him to just pull the damn dress down and let her feel skin on skin.

He pinched her nipple even as he bit down on her lower lip, swallowing her cry of pain and longing. Then his hand slid lower and lower. He cupped her sex, and she couldn't help the whimper that escaped. Damon heard it, too, and broke the kiss long enough to meet her eyes, his hot and hard.

Then his mouth found hers again, and goddamn it, she didn't even protest for show. She took him, welcomed him. She revelled in the taste of him even as his hand urged her skirt up. Even as he found her sex, hot and wet and throbbing with need.

There was no romance. There was no tenderness. He roughly shoved her lace panties to the side, exposing her flesh to his fingers. He thrust his fingers inside her, and Elena moaned as her body clenched tight around him, wanting him deeper, wanting more. Wanting to get lost in this moment and cling hard to everything she was feeling, but knew that she could not have.

His fingers were slick when he teased her clit, playing and stroking, teasing her to the edge and back. Her body was alive with electricity, sparks dancing over her, her lips tingling, and her nipples hard and tight and so painfully aroused. Elena wanted his touch, she wanted him inside her.

She simply wanted him.

"Now," Damon growled, making her forget both fear and reality. "Dammit, Elena, you come for me now."

She did. And when she shattered in his arms—when she spin out and exploded into the light-splattered night—Elena could only wish that she could stay like this, lost in pleasure with this man. But she knew better than to believe in wishes, and when reason returned to her, she leaned back, once again relying on the car and not Damon to keep her steady.

His eyes stayed on her for an instant longer, but she could not read his expression. Then he took a single step back. "Goddamn you, Elena," he whispered, holding his hands up as if in shock. "Goddamn you all to hell."

Elena trembled, lost and light-headed and confused. "I—I thought you said we were done."

"We may be done, but we are not over. We are a hell of a long way from over." His tone was still harsh, but beneath it, she heard something more. Regret? Resignation?

She didn't know, but whatever it was ripped through her heart, leaving it ragged.

Damon dragged his fingers through his hair, then exhaled. He looked at her, up and down. He said nothing about what just happened. Nothing about their past. Nothing about the present. His expression was harsh and hard and unreadable.

But his eyes…

His eyes didn't lie, and the tenderness Elena saw there came close to destroying her. Because tenderness from Damon was something she couldn't handle.

"Come on," he said, then surprised her by taking her arm.

"Where are we going?"

"Unless you want to make that poor man you flirted with just now walks home, we should probably get away from his car. I imagine he is hiding around here somewhere."

"Right. Of course." Elena took a deep breath and force her thoughts back in the right direction. This wasn't about her. This wasn't about Damon. And it was not about them, because there were no them

It was about the resort, and Elena did remember that. "There is a coffee shop around the corner," she said. "Let's have some coffee and dessert and we can talk about the project."

"I already gave you my terms, princess."

Elena didn't bother to answer. She told herself he couldn't be serious. Damon was too accomplished a businessman and this was too plum a project. And once his temper cooled down they could move on to serious discussion.

From his expression, however, she thought that the resort was the farthest thing from his mind. Still, he started heading towards the street, and Elena considered that a victory.

But they didn't make it that far. Instead, he shifted right past Destiny and led her to the blue Camaro parked at the parking lot. "Let's go back to your house."

"No way," she said, but she remembered the way his fingers felt inside her just moments ago, and she had to forcibly plant her feet outside his car. "No way."

He turned around and Elena expected to see either frustration or irritation on his face. Instead, she watched him melted a little. "No," he said simply, almost gently.

Then he leaned in and kissed her, this time so softly and gently that Elena thought she would melt. "I'm not the man you think I am."

"You are," she said. And that was the heart of the problem.

He hesitated only a moment, and then walked past her to the driver's side. Before she could think of an appropriate response, she heard the less than civilized growl of the Camaro engine. The lights came on.

"Get inside the car," he said through the open window.

She stood and looked at him through the open window. She did consider protesting more, but she was both confused and exhausted. She had no more fight left in her. And so she climbed inside the car to see where this was going.

They said nothing for a moment. He drove with easy skill, but he seemed to be concentrating on the road with an unnecessary degree of attention.

"You are still staying at the same place?" he asked after a while.

"Yes."

"What about your parents?"

"They have moved after dad had a heart attack five years ago," she said. "Mum thinks staying in town is not good for his health. They are still close by, just out of town, half an hour drive."

"Hmm, hmm."

"What does it mean?"

"What?"

Elena looked at him. "Damon, I told you, I'm not going to sleep with you."

"Really?" He shot her a brief glance. "Your body was obviously telling a different story just now."

She felt her jaw tense. "I came to see you because of business."

"You are right," he intoned darkly. "Business."

He turned off the main road a short time later and went down the lane that led to her house. The Gilbert's home was a stately place, much like many others Damon had been in that were built in the late fifties and early sixties . He bought his Camaro to a halt in front of the porch.

"Thanks for the lift." Elena unfastened her seat belt.

"You are welcome."

She opened the car door and paused, gazing straight ahead through the windshield.

"You aren't going to take on the project, are you?" she asked gently.

"I already gave you my terms, princess."

She took a deep breath. "I know you would be difficult."

"You want me, too." It was a statement, not a question.

She swallowed hard. "I don't do this." She pushed the door open and got out. "Not with business."

Elena took a few steps and then turned back, expecting to see Damon behind her. Instead, he was still inside the car.

"Good night, Elena," he said.

And for the second time that night, Damon Salvatore walked away.

x x x

Elena…

Elena…

Elena!

She sat bolt upright, breathing hard. She was in a dark room, and something was buzzing repeatedly, sounding to her tormented mind like her name being called over and over and over again.

But it was not her name. It was her phone. And as she scrambled to find it, reality returned.

She was back in her house. She was in her room.

And Damon was standing firm on his ultimatum about the resort.

Well, hell.

As for the rest of it—the memories, the zoning out, the way he touched her—She really didn't want to go there.

But even though she told herself that, she couldn't help the jolt of disappointment when she finally squinted at her now-silent phone and saw that the call wasn't from Damon.

Damn.

She sat up, stretching as she played the voice mail from Caroline.

"Hey, girl, I tried to find you last night, and then someone said they saw you leaving with Damon right behind you. So I hope that Damon said yes to the resort and you are home sleeping the sleep of victory. Or he said no, and you are home sleeping the sleep of defeat. Either way, I hope you didn't do something stupid. If you get this right away, then call me. And if I don't hear from you, I'm going to be supremely pissed. No excuses, Elena. Call me."

The phone went dead.

Well, she thought. All right then.

Elena hesitated, because she was not entirely sure she wanted to talk. But this was Caroline and she was her best friend and even though she didn't outright say it, Elena knew that she was worried. So she bit the bullet and called.

"You bitch," she said without preamble. "You didn't even text me. Where were you? Were you with Damon?"

"I'm sorry. I just didn't think. And no. I mean, yes. I mean, later. I was with Damon later."

"So you are home now?"

"Yes."

The pause was so long that she pulled her phone away from her ear so that she could make sure they hadn't been disconnected.

"Did you sleep with him?"

"No!" Her tone was full of righteous indignation, which, considering Damon had his fingers in her panties, was a little bit disingenuous. "I wasn't even with him most of the time. I—oh, shit, Caroline. I went to Destiny."

"What?! Seriously?"

Now the worry was plain in her voice, and it was clear that Caroline understood her meaning—she didn't go there just to dance.

Elena rushed to reassure her. "It is okay. I'm okay."

"Are you sure?" Her words were controlled and evenly spaced. Not anger. But fear.

"Yeah."

"I'm on my way," she says.

"No, Caroline, really. I'm fine. I'm going to get cleaned up and get to the office. See if I can find another architect who will make the investors happy," she said it lightly, even though she knew there was no way in hell.

"You are sure? I'm not that far away."

"I'm sure," Elena said. "And you don't want to leave Klaus, and he doesn't want to spend the morning with me. Seriously, it is all good."

"Okay. Listen, if you want to talk to someone, just call me. Any time. I'm all yours."

"I won't. I'm fine. Quit playing Mommy."

"I'm worried about you."

"Don't be," Elena said gently. "It is all good."

She could practically see Caroline's unsatisfied expression. "Fine. Tonight, then. I have got a one o'clock that should take a couple of hours, but after that I'm free. Meet me at the Grill at three?"

And because they both need reassurance that she was all right, Elena nodded. "Yeah," she said into the phone. "We can grab a late lunch."

"Forget the late lunch. I'm going to want an early drink."

Elena laughed, and ended the call.

She briefly considered whether she should go back to sleep for a few hours or just head back to the office After she hit the bathroom, though, Elena decided to compromise on a shower. She would feel better after a shower, she thought.

She turned the water on and waited for the temperature to adjust, standing naked in front of the mirror as she did.

 _Did you sleep with him?_

Caroline's words seemed to echo in the small room, and she closed her eyes. It wasn't easy to forget Damon. When she was with him, he just consumed her. She shook her head, hoping she could shake away the memories of him.

Hell, life would be so much easier if Damon had never existed.

 _Right and wrong._

 _Good and evil._

 _Black and white._

 _These are the parameters of the world in which we live, and anyone who tries to tell you otherwise—who argues that nothing is absolute, and that there are always shades of grey—is either a fool or trying to con you._

Her father told her that. And Damon definitely didn't fall into the parameters mentioned by her father. Damon was the man he was – she was not in love a polished version of him. And she was in love with him. Desperately. Hopelessly.

But they were from two very different worlds.

Therefore, Elena had walked away. She had asked him to leave. And though she had been absolutely certain that was the right thing to do, now she was haunted by pain and memory, loneliness and loss.

She sighed again and got into the shower.

Right now, Elena told herself, she was doing fine. She had a career and her family business had continued to grow. She was moving forward in her life.

And for years, she had felt strong and capable and in control.

But now the world was getting grey around the edges again, and the control she had always clutched so desperately was slipping away as if she was holding tight with buttered fingers.

How reckless was she last night? How could she flirt with Liam Davis? She was grateful that Damon showed up. Otherwise she would definitely regret this morning.

But Damon was back now, and she was tingling all over, just like a numb limb coming back to life, and she honestly didn't know if she could handle this.

No, that was not true. She knew that she couldn't handle it.

Somehow, she needed to get Damon Salvatore out of her head.

Except, dear god, she wanted him.

There, she had said it, even if only in her head. She wanted him.

Time and distance hadn't lessened the desire any more than hurt and anger had.

She wanted his touch. She wanted his hands. She wanted everything he had to offer.

God helped her, she thought. She didn't know what to do.

She closed her eyes and hugged herself and breathed in slowly and steadily.

Hell, maybe she should be grateful he tossed her that ultimatum. Because she was an idiot to think that she could work with him, even if that was the only way to save the resort.

No. She couldn't give up. Not yet. Not until she had tried everything.

Which meant that her plan was to dig into the extensive array of files that the company had on every building project around the world.

And even though Elena already knew that every potential replacement was fully booked for years, she knew she had to try.

x x x

Elena had just sat down at her desk and was taking the first sip of her coffee when Enzo raced into her office. "Good, you are here!" he burst out.

She raised a brow. "What happened?"

"Apparently, a reporter called just after dawn this morning. Word is out the project is dead."

"What?"

"The reporter knew that Wes quit—which can be attributed to Wes's own people—but he also heard that our first potential alternative said a big fuck you to working for Gilbert International."

Elena felt a sharp pain in her chest, as if someone had thrust in a knife. "That's—" She started to say ridiculous, but it really wasn't. Damon pretty much had said that. And he had given her only one way around it—a way she had no intention of taking.

"I don't know where the reporter could be getting his information," she said. "Damon hasn't said yes, but he also hasn't said no." She took a deep breath. "And if this spreads to the rest of the investors …"

She stood and took another deep breath.

"Dammit, I handled this whole thing badly," she said. "Not only did I not manage to lock Damon in last night, but I somehow managed to create a leak." She looked at Enzo "I'm sorry."

The truth was, Elena didn't actually know where she went wrong, but this project was her responsibility, and if something messed it up, then she the one shouldering the responsibility.

"Did you tell anyone that Salvatore was our go-to alternative for Wes?" Enzo asked.

"Caroline and Klaus," she said. "But they have no vested interest."

"And Salvatore?"

"Well, of course. But considering I was approaching him, that would have been self-evident anyway."

One brow quirks up in a way Elena considered very British. "Wouldn't surprise me," he said

"Wait a minute. You are suggesting that Damon Salvatore leaked this to a reporter? Why on earth would he do that?"

Enzo hesitated. "I did some digging after what you told me about your relationship with him."

Elena exhaled slowly but said nothing.

"I knew the odds of getting him on board were slim. It didn't occur to me he had set the rumour mill buzzing."

"I can't believe it." Elena was not sure if she was angry or flabbergasted.

She started to tell Enzo that she absolutely didn't believe that Damon would do such a thing, but then remembered what Damon said about revenge. If he was going to mess with her, might as well go all out.

"You gave it your best shot," Enzo added, even as her temper was spiking. "And the work you did was first-rate. We can always try again in the future."

Elena managed a small smile. She was pleased to know her hard work paid off. But this was about the project.

A project that Damon Salvatore had ripped right out of her hands.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

She looked straight at Enzo. "It is really over, isn't it?"

"Unless by some miracle Salvatore says yes, then yeah, I'm afraid it is." He sighed. "We already have the conference call scheduled for end of this week, so have the PR department respond with no comment until then. After the call, we will release a statement. Elena," he continued, "I will get you a draft by tomorrow."

"You can give it to me before end of this week. There is no rush," she said. Right now, all she wanted was to be alone.

Enzo excused himself and was stepping out when Elena's intercom buzzes. She was taking another sip of her coffee when she heard her secretary's April's voice in stereo.

"Miss Gilbert, there is a Mr Damon Salvatore here to see you."

She gasped and choked on her coffee. "What?!"

"Mr Damon Salvatore is here to see you," April repeated.

Enzo headed back to her desk and said, "Send him in."

Elena took a deep breath and managed to get her act together.

After a moment, Damon strode confidently towards her. "Miss Gilbert," he said as he reached out his hand. "How nice to see you again. I'm sorry to come without an appointment, but I wanted to tell you personally how excited I am to be a part of The Resort at Dunham Lake."


	6. Chapter 6

_MYSTICS FALLS 2007_

Forever ended all too soon.

The next thing Elena knew, the engine had stopped and they were parked in front of the Salvatore boarding house. The Salvatore boarding house was built in 1914 and over the years the house was used as a place where visitors could stay until Joseph Salvatore decided to use it as a family home. As Elena blinked groggily, she saw a man hurry over. He pulled open the door and Damon slid out, then bent back in to give her a hand.

"I'm fine." The breath she drew in was shaky, and she knew that her voice was going to sound anxious, but she couldn't help herself. "You brought me to the Salvatore boarding house."

His blues eyes were clear and full of understanding. "You need to rest but I don't think you want to be alone tonight."

Elena nodded.

"I can send you home if you don't want to stay here," he said softly.

She shook her head. She didn't want to go home. She wanted to be with Damon.

That, however, wasn't something she was going to tell him. So, wisely, she stayed silent as he led her through the front door into the living room. There was a large fireplace with a raised marble hearth at one end. In the middle of the room, separated by a carved mahogany coffee table, stood two long sofas upholstered in a rich burgundy and gold stripe, strewn with an assortment of plump pillows covered in jewel-toned plaids that made the sofas, and the room, seem more inviting and warm.

Only silence greeted them as they entered the living room.

In other words, Damon and Elena were alone. And while she could still recall with vivid, delicious clarity the way that his body had felt against hers in the alley, right then it wasn't the press of skin against skin that she craved. It was simply the man, beside her.

As if he could read her mind, he led her to the comfy leather couch. "Sit down," he said. "Then I need you to tell me the truth."

Elena looked at him sharply, not sure she understood the meaning of Damon's words.

"Hot chocolate, wine, or something one hell of a lot stronger?"

She actually smiled, the expression feeling foreign. "Cocoa, please." She narrowed her eyes. "But only if it is good. I have my standards, after all."

His smile was casual, but Elena could see the spark of amusement in his eyes. "Sweetheart, I'm always good."

Her smile widened and a genuine laugh escaped.

"That's what I like to hear." He reached for her hand, and then brushed his fingers over hers before he moved off toward the kitchen.

The moment he was out of sight, Elena smiled to herself. She had done this before. Curled up beneath a blanket. Hot cocoa. Only Damon wasn't in the kitchen that time, her mother had been. And her father had been sitting next to her, holding tight to her hand. She'd had her back pressed against the sofa, listening to her father telling her about their family business.

The sense of familiarity felt so good. It felt particularly good tonight because Damon was here.

"Elena."

She jerked her head around to see him standing in the doorway, a steaming mug held tight in his hands.

He raised his brows. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

He cocked his head as if considering her words and crossed to her without another word, then held the mug out for her. Elena took it, her fingers brushing over his as she closed her hands around the warm ceramic. Their eyes met, and she felt the flash of a connection shoot through me. Real and solid and unmistakable.

And nothing more now than a missed opportunity.

The heat she had seen in his eyes was banked now, replaced instead by affection and concern. But she didn't want affection. She wanted the fire back, and she wanted it hot enough to burn so that she could feel alive.

"Tell me," he said, settling down on the couch next to her.

Elena was sitting cross-legged with a pillow in her lap. His thigh brushed against her knee. It was hard to concentrate on his question, and she knew that she needed to. She had a feeling that despite her usual reticence, she would say things around Damon that she shouldn't.

She took a sip of the cocoa, and then looked up at him in delighted pleasure. "You added peppermint schnapps."

"You once said you like it that way."

Elena blinked, surprised. She had spent one evening at Tyler's house after a football match two weeks ago. Klaus, Damon and Alaric had come over that evening, along with the other football team members. Mrs Lockwood had served cocoa with peppermint schnapps. It was the first time she had ever tasted it, and she had thought that if heaven had specialty drinks, that would certainly be on the list. "You remember that?"

His eyes never left her face. "I remember a lot of things."

"Oh." Elena looked down, suddenly self-conscious, and took a long sip of the drink, relishing the way it eased down her throat, warming her from the inside out.

"Elena," he said gently. "Did something happen between you and Donovan?"

She looked back up sharply as she realized what he thought. That she had problem with her relationship with Matt.

She laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. "Nothing."

She knew she was a terrible liar. He didn't move or flinch. There was no surprise on his face. Only compassion.

"Tell me," he ordered. "I can see you aren't happy."

"I'm not."

"No, you are not." He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. Elena waited for him to say something else, but no words came. He just sat there with her until she couldn't take the weight of the silence any longer.

"Matt warned me to stay away from you."

"He did?"

She nodded.

He reached over and carefully took the cup out of her hands. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you stay away?"

"Because I can't," she finally managed. "I just can't." She shook her head, expecting him to look at her like she was a little bit crazy.

"Maybe you should," he said softly.

"Why?"

Damon hesitated. "Because good girls like you shouldn't stick around with bad guys."

"In my opinion, you aren't bad," she told him stubbornly. "You saved me tonight."

God, he loved that stubborn look on her face. "You shouldn't have gone to Destiny. It is not a place for girls like you."

"What do you mean by girls like me?" she demanded. "You sound like I'm weak and useless!"

He slid off the couch and knelt right in front of her, then gently pressed his hands on her knees. "You nearly got hurt, Elena."

"No one got hurt, Damon." Elena shrugged. "Well, it is not true. You almost did."

His mouth twitched a little, making the dimple flash. "I'm not sure if I should be flattered you care, or insulted that you think so little of my skill."

"Flattered," she said, managing a smile.

He met her smile, and this time his own went all the way to his eyes. He leaned over and retrieved her cup from the floor, then handed it back to her. "Drink your cocoa."

She actually grinned, and it felt nice.

"What?"

"It feels like you are babysitting me."

His scarred brow lifted, making him look sexy and arrogant all at the same time. He shifted his weight forward, and before Elena knew what to expect, he had caught her in a kiss, hard and deep. She moaned, her body softening with need and thrumming with desire. They touched only in two places—lips and knees—and yet every inch of skin on her body crackled with banked electricity, as if Damon was a storm and she had been caught unawares.

As swiftly as Damon had moved in, he released her and settled back, leaving her gaping breathlessly at him. "You are not a child, Elena. I'm not sure you were ever a child. And I damn sure know that I wasn't."

Since she didn't have a clue what to say to that, she remained silent, holding her mug and wondering if her mouth was tingling because of the schnapps or because of his kiss.

After a moment, he rose, then held out his hand to her. She left the mug on the floor, put her hand in his, and stood.

Without a word, he led her to his bedroom. He turned her around, then slowly unzipped her dress. Whatever chill had lingered from the evening and the onslaught of memory disappeared, vanquished by the heat of his proximity. She soaked in his warmth as tiny sparks bounced and fizzed inside me. And yet this simple touch was enough. So much, in fact, that he had filled her up completely.

Gently, his hands stroked her shoulders. "Slip it off," he said. "Get under the covers."

"I—"

"Don't argue. Just do." He moved toward the connecting bathroom, and while he was gone, Elena complied, letting the dress slide off her body to pool around her ankles. She hesitated a moment, then unclasped her bra and let it fall, as well. She still wore the panties, silk and lace that were one of her many wardrobe indulgences.

She drew in a breath, lifted the covers, and slid into bed.

Damon returned momentarily with a glass of water. He handed it to her and she took it. She drank a long swallow, wondering if she should be sad that he had manufactured this reason to leave the room while she undressed, or impressed that he was a gentleman at heart.

She landed on the side of gentleman. "Thank you," she said.

"It is just water," he answered, but he smiled in what Elena thought was understanding. He nodded toward the bed. "Sleep now."

"I—" She stumbled on her words. "Where are you going? I don't want to be alone."

He bent and gently stroked her forehead. "I will be right here." She watched as he settled himself in the leather armchair near the wall of windows. "Sleep," he repeated, and she nodded, suddenly aware of how heavy her eyelids felt.

Elena snuggled under the covers, then let herself drift off.

She felt warm. She felt safe. She felt protected.

At least until the shadows came.

The scream cut through the air, so loud and sharp and painful that it wrenched her awake.

Strong arms surrounded her, and she drew in a breath, terrified, and only then realizing that she had been the one doing the screaming.

"Deep breaths, baby. I have got you. Just take some deep breaths. You are safe. You are with me and you are safe." Damon's voice washed over her, warm and commanding, as if simply by saying that she was safe he could make it so. She was sitting upright, clutching tight to him. Her arms were around him, her hands fisted in the back of his T-shirt.

The sheet had tumbled away to gather at her waist, and her breasts were pressed against him. His hands, big and warm and strong, gently stroked her bare back as Elena gulped in air, trying to shake free of the tendrils of fear that still clung to her, cold and menacing.

"You are safe," he repeated gently. "You are okay. It was only a dream."

Elena nodded, realizing as she did that she was starting to believe it. She was awake. She was safe. She was warm in the security of Damon's arms.

She was not sure how long he held her like that. All she knew was that by the time she finally did pull away, he had given her enough of his strength to make it the rest of the way on her own.

"Better now?"

She nodded, then sat upright on the bed, one leg tucked under her.

"What was it about?"

She closed her eyes. "It was a silly dream. I was alone. The men. They wanted to attack me. They had knives. You were there. And they hurt you."

"Elena." He gathered her into his arms. She thought that she should pull away or curl up into a ball or tell him to leave her be for just a little while until she managed to get her act together. But she didn't. She didn't have the strength, but more than that, she didn't have the desire.

To have Damon beside her now, giving her both strength and comfort was like opening the biggest present on Christmas morning.

Damon stroked her back slowly, but Elena could feel the tension in his touch. "I should have just walked away."

She didn't have a clue what he was talking about, and she pulled away only long enough to look at him with curiosity.

"In the alley," he explained. "I should have taken you back inside the club. I should have walked away from those assholes. Gone inside. Called a bouncer. Just gotten clear. Anything to get you away from there." He cupped her cheek with his palm. "I didn't think. I wanted you—goddammit, I wanted you so much—and I just didn't think about what you would see. What you would think."

Her eyes were wide. "No, oh, god, Damon, no. You were brilliant. You were perfect."

"I didn't feel perfect when I saw you cowering on the asphalt. Or now, when you wake screaming from a nightmare."

Elena could see the emotion in his face, along with the frustration. This was a man prone to action. He was tough. He could fight fear and nightmares, just like any proper knight

The thought was almost enough to make her smile.

"It's okay. You were there to protect me, Damon." She shifted position, pulled into motion by the need to make him understand. "What you did in the alley—you did to make sure I wouldn't get hurt."

Damon touched her cheek with the pad of his thumb. "I would end those bastards right now, if I could." His voice was so tight Elena thought it might break. "For the fear they left behind."

She swallowed, undone by the ferocity that he was barely holding in. A feral determination that was so raw, so primal, it took her breath away. Their eyes locked, and for a moment she thought she would fall inside of him, both of them tumbling away from reality into some world that was uniquely theirs.

Then he pulled her roughly against him, and she knew that they had to stay here. This world. This reality. But with Damon beside her, maybe she could stand it.

"Elena," he said, then caught her mouth with his. His kiss was rough, in sharp contrast to the tenderness of his touch. She matched him, her need frantic. Intense. She was desperate to get lost in him. To leave everything behind except the reality of Damon and Elena and heat and need.

This was what Elena had wanted. What she had fantasized about. This man in her bed. His body hard against hers. His hands upon hers, his tongue tasting her.

They were wild. Frenzied. As if they had both exploded into supernovas of passion. One of his hands clutched her head, holding her in place as they devoured each other with kisses. The other roamed her back, palm flat, each bit of skin that he caressed lighting up in the wake of his touch until she was sure that she glowed as bright as the sun.

She was wide open to him in so many ways, and when she felt his hand cup her breast, she gasped from the sweet pleasure of the inevitable. "Yes," she murmured. "Oh, please, yes."

His hands moved to her shoulders, then stroked down her arms even as his gaze roamed down her body, making her nipples tighten as his eyes dipped toward her chest. "God, Elena, do you have any idea—"

Elena didn't know what idea she was supposed to have because his words were cut off when he thrust her backward onto the bed, then moved to straddle her. She was trapped beneath him with his groin right over hers. She was naked but for the panties, so wet now that she was certain they clung to her body like a second skin.

She was completely exposed to him—completely open to him. He could do anything to her in that moment. Take her any way he wanted. She was completely and utterly his, and that knowledge made her pulse skitter and her skin tingle. She held her breath, not knowing what would come next, but only that she craved it. Craved him.

His lips skimmed the curve of her ear, then down the soft skin of her neck, the feather soft contact designed to drive her wild. Slowly, he traced her collarbone with the tip of his tongue before moving lower still.

She groaned with delighted abandon as he closed his mouth over her breast, his teeth teasing her nipple as he suckled her, sending threads of fire to shoot from her breasts all the way to her throbbing, needy sex.

"Damon." Elena was not sure she even spoke his name. It was a plea, a prayer. And as his hot mouth continued lower down her abdomen, his tongue teasing her navel before moving on to her panty line, she had to acknowledge that it was also a thank-you. She may have awakened in a nightmare, but she could barely remember it now. All she knew was Damon. All she understood was his touch. All she wanted was the man.

"Off," he growled, his fingers tugging at the lace of her panties.

She wriggled her hips as he yanked them down. She had no idea if he tossed them aside or if they ended up tangled in the sheets. She was too preoccupied with the way he clutched her thighs, his thumbs grazing teasingly close to her sex. He pushed her legs apart, spreading her wide as he bent lower, then licked every intimate inch of her.

Damon was the first man to touch me like this since she had been waxed, and the sensation of his tongue against her bare flesh came damn close to pushing her over the edge, the glorious sensation matched only by the teasing way that his tongue danced over her clit in sweet little motions designed to send her spiralling into the heavens.

Elena wanted to cry out—to scream in pleasure—but she also didn't want him to stop, and so she bit down on the pad of her thumb until she couldn't take it anymore. Until the sweet, decadent pressure inside her became too much to bear and she had to cry out as her body shuddered and exploded, only to be drawn back to earth again, tethered to Damon, just as he had promised.

"Damon—oh my god, Damon."

"Shhh." Damon moved up beside her, then pulled her close until he was spooned against her. He was still in his jeans and T-shirt, but she could feel his erection straining against her ass as he hooked an arm over her waist to anchor her against him.

"Don't you want—?"

"I want to hold you. I want to fall asleep with the taste of you on my lips and the scent of you all around me. And I want you to drift off with nothing in your head but the pleasure I gave you. Do you understand, baby?"

Elena remembered everything he had said in the alley. She wanted that—she wanted it desperately.

She nodded, and if she wasn't so tired, she would have smiled. Once again, Damon Salvatore understood what she needed.

"Good girl. Now close your eyes." His voice was soft, almost sing-song, and she complied.

With Damon beside her, Elena felt herself drifting off. Falling away in the arms of this dangerous man.

And never in her life had she felt more safe.

x x x

The rest of the night passed easily, and Elena woke up feeling so alive and refreshed and alert that she actually laughed out loud. She felt so good.

Slowly, she rolled over, careful not to wake Damon who still had his arm over her. His face was calm, at peace, and yet she could still see the dark hints of the man who had protected her in the alley. The sharp contours of his face. The shadow of beard stubble. He was dangerous and she knew what he was capable of. She had seen it, hadn't she? If those men had taken it further—if they had tried to hurt her—Damon would have killed them with no thought and no regret. He was, she thought, an avenging angel. Her avenging angel.

And all she wanted right then was to finish what he had started. To give him the same pleasure that he had given her.

Gently, Elena shifted on the bed, hooking her leg over until she was straddling him, her knees pressed into the mattress on either side of him. The covers slid down her body and the cool air brushed over her back and her bare breasts. She was naked now, her panties having been flung aside last night like an afterthought.

She stayed like that for a moment, her eyes on his face. Her breasts felt heavy, her nipples tight. Her breathing was ragged and wild, and she slid her hand down her belly, then closed her eyes as her fingers found her sex, hot and slick. She drew in a shattered breath as the remnants of a dream returned. He had banished the nightmare, yes. And the dream that had replaced it had been sweetly, desperately arousing.

She pulled her hand away. Her body might be on the edge, but she had no interest in being the one who pushed her over. She wanted Damon and only Damon. She bent forward at the waist and lowered her hips until she was brushing against his crotch. Just that one point of connection, and yet every atom in her body was reacting, swirling and bouncing and dancing in glorious anticipation.

Her hands were on the bed, palms flat, on either side of his head. She was low enough now that her breasts brushed the cotton of his T-shirt, her nipples so tight and hard that the friction was almost painful. Her breath was ragged, her body nothing more than need.

She brushed a soft kiss over his lips and watched as his eyes fluttered. Elena held her breath, exhaling only when his eyes fluttered open to reveal the smoky depths of those enigmatic blue eyes.

"Elena," he murmured, and that was enough for her. She rocketed forward, capturing him in a hard, fast, demanding kiss. His mouth was open to hers and she tasted him, drawing him in, savouring him. He broke the kiss suddenly, gasping, and she arched back to look at his face. His eyes met hers, and she saw herself. Her need and her desire. She saw the pent-up passion, and in that moment, she felt wholly vindicated—at least until the moment the shadow passed between them.

"Oh, Jesus, Elena," he said as he looked away. And in that instant the world around her shattered like glass.

"Damon," she said, but what she meant was "Please."

It didn't matter. He had been with her—right there—but now he was pulling back. Frantic, Elena reached out, grabbing his collar and holding him in place. "I want this," she said. "I want to finish what we started last night. What you said. Don't you see? I'm still not running."

Once again, his eyes met hers, and this time there was no passion. Only regret and bald determination. "I know you are not." He closed his hand gently over hers, then loosened her grip. "But you should."

He drew in a heavy breath, then shifted on the bed so that he was no longer over her. Elena lay there, numb, as he sat up on the side of the bed. His back was straight as a board. His shoulders were squared. She had the impression she was looking at a soldier about to go into battle. Reluctant, but determined.

She understood what he was doing—what she didn't get was why.

"Damon." Her voice was barely a whisper, as if volume might push him out the door. "We both want it. I do, and I know you do, too."

Damon stood up, then turned to look at her. She dragged the covers up to her neck, needing to keep at least part of her hidden. She had already exposed too much of herself to him.

"Don't you?" She pleaded when he said nothing. Her voice was laced with a note of insecurity, and she hated herself for it. She watched the expressions shift across his face like clouds upon the wind, and fear slashed through her. "You are not seriously going to stand there and tell me I'm wrong? I felt it, Damon. I felt you."

His expression was flat, but his eyes were like a storm when they met hers. "I have done and will do a lot of things that you would probably find reprehensible. But I will never, never, lie to you."

Elena shook her head, confused and wary.

"Last night—what happened in the alley." He shook his head. "It was a mistake," he said, and with that single word, she understood everything. Whatever he had seen in her—whatever he had wanted—she had managed to destroy it. He might have lost control last night, but in the end, she was dragon bait—some weak female who needed rescuing. But it wasn't a princess that Damon Salvatore wanted. It never had been.

"A mistake," she repeated dully. She thought of the way she had felt in his arms. The way he had managed to make her feel alive.

Yeah, maybe that was a mistake.

x x x

"You are an idiot. You know that, right?"

Elena gaped at Caroline over the coffee she was sipping. "What the hell?"

She had called Bonnie first for cupcakes and sympathy, but she had to go to her grandmother's house. She had ended up at Caroline's, figuring that if anyone could cheer her up it would be her beautiful blonde girlfriend. So far, Elena was less than impressed with her technique. "When you said I should come over, I thought it was so you could make me feel better."

"That was before I knew the full story. And that you plan to just let the guy walk. Like I said. Idiot."

"Let him walk? He practically sprinted." Elena ran her fingers through her hair. "He doesn't want me. And I sure as hell shouldn't want him."

Caroline took out some scones from the oven and then slid it onto the counter in front of her.

She raised her steaming coffee mug. "I'm not hungry."

"Trust me, the coffee will taste much better with my mum's scone."

She rolled her eyes and picked up a scone. It really did smell wonderful. She lathered butter on it.

Elena was sitting at the breakfast bar that was attached to the kitchen island in Caroline's house. She had known Caroline since first grade and they had been friends since then. For the years they had been friends, she had spent heaps of time at Caroline's house. Caroline's mum was the sheriff in Mystic Falls. Caroline wasn't exactly competent in the kitchen, but Liz Forbes can make anything taste good.

Caroline slid onto the stool next to her. "You have that look. What's on your mind?"

"I don't have a look," Elena countered.

"I have known you forever. Trust me when I say you have a look."

"There is no look. But if there was a look it would be one of confusion." She sighed around a mouthful of scone.

"And you are confused because…?"

"I'm just wondering how you are justified in giving relationship advice since you are single at the moment."

"I'm highly selective," Caroline said. "If I find the right person, I will go after him and never let him go."

Elena absolutely loved Caroline to death. Together with Bonnie, the three of them had a wonderful time growing up in Mystic Falls. She couldn't think how bored her life would be without Bonnie and Caroline. They shared their dreams and ambitions. They talked about boys and complained about the teachers at school. They cried together when Caroline told them her parents divorced.

"Let's back up to this idiot thing," Elena said as she finished off the scone. "Pretend you are a guy—"

Caroline cocked her head and lifted a brow.

Elena rolled her eyes. "Pretend you are a guy who has just walked away from a woman he is attracted to."

"We are not playing this game, Elena. He didn't walk away because you melted down when some assholes with knives came after you. He walked away because your family."

"He damn sure had forgotten about my family in the alley before the assholes showed up."

"He was thinking with his cock."

"And he wasn't when he went down on me?"

Caroline opened her mouth to retort, and then shrugged. "Score one for the little lady."

Elena revelled in her victory, even though it was the purely Pyrrhic kind. And, frankly, the reason didn't exactly matter. She had thought for a shining moment that she had gotten the man she had fantasized about, and then it had all gone to hell.

Honestly, Elena should have expected that.

"And you know what?" Caroline said, waving a scone in her direction. "We are living in year 2007, not 1907. Who cares about what people think nowadays? If he really has a thing for you, he needs to keep the promises he made to you."

Elena had no idea what he was talking about, a fact which must have shown on her face, because Caroline just shook her head in exasperation.

"What do you think happened on that dance floor? In that alley? Not to mention your bed."

"Not enough," Elena muttered grumpily.

Caroline lifted her coffee mug in salute. "True, but I was going to say that it was a promise, too, right? He was promising you one hell of a good time, and then he went and cut you off. Do girls get blue balls?"

"Yes," Elena said flatly.

Caroline snorted. "Well, I know guys do, and he must have a serious pair. I mean, shit, the guy got you off, had you right there naked, and still didn't fuck you. Do you have any idea how much self-control that takes? The guy is freaking Hercules."

At that, Elena laughed outright. She had known coming here was a good idea. Already, she felt better. "Maybe he is just not attracted to me," she said, forcing herself not to grin.

"Now you are just fishing for compliments."

The smile Elena had tried to suppress blossomed. "Well, Damon may have a different opinion on women."

"Good point." Caroline finished her last bite of scone, and then slid off the stool to go the sink to clean her plate. "You are an exceptionally gorgeous woman with astounding acrobatic abilities in the sack. You have good taste in movies, terrible taste in candy, and you make damn good spaghetti, thanks to my mum's incredible teaching, of course."

"Thank you," Elena said graciously. "I'm not that good in the kitchen. But I love you anyway."

"As you should. But as for Damon Salvatore…" Caroline trailed off, shaking her head regretfully. "He is an asshole who doesn't keep his promises."

"No, he is not," Elena said.

Caroline burst out laughing. "Oh, man. You really do have it bad."

Elena sighed. Because she did. She really did.

"Did Matt know?" Caroline asked as she refilled her coffee.

Elena sighed. "Matt told me to stay away from Damon."

"So, little Matty is jealous."

"I'm bad, aren't I?" Elena said. "I'm with Matt but I'm pinning for Damon."

"You can't string him along, Elena. If you are not into it anymore, just tell him."

"I know."

"And you are going to go for it," Caroline said as she drank her coffee. "Damon wants you. You want him. So make your move. Tell him that he is an idiot for staying away from you because of your family. All he is doing is punishing you and giving himself blue balls. And if he sticks to his guns then he is an idiot and doesn't deserve you anyway."

Elena looked at her best friend. "That's what I should do?"

"Yeah. What do you have to lose?"

"Nothing really," Elena mumbled.

"Exactly."

Caroline hooked her arm through Elena. "Come on. We have cheerleading practise this morning before the football match this weekend. Then we can grab lunch at the Grill."

"I'm joining my parents for lunch at the Mystic Falls Hotel."

"Oh."

"You want to come with me?" Elena asked, certain her parents wouldn't mind.

"No, thank you. I can't stand hearing your father talking about politics. Besides, if are you booked for the rest of the day, I may go shopping. I want to get some new bras and undies."

Elena reached Mystic Falls Hotel shortly after twelve. The Mystic Falls Hotel was one of her parents' favourite places in town. Elena loved the high tea there. Most of all, though, she just wanted to see her mum and dad. She missed them. They had been so busy since Grayson started the campaign.

The outside of The Mystic Falls Hotel has a sort of art deco vibe that she loved. She could imagine girls in flapper dresses hanging out in the Roaring Twenties, much to the delight of the stuffy businessmen who were secretly thrilled to see so much leg and so much cleavage.

But while the outside got her imagination humming, it was the inside of the hotel that took her breath away. It didn't scream elegance. It simply was elegant. A massive staircase leading up to a beautiful floral arrangement that was flanked on either side by stunning chandeliers. That was all you could see until you climbed those stairs and entered the fairyland.

Elena did that now, pausing at the top of the stairs to turn and face the magnificence of the hotel. Her parents had first brought her here when she was ten and she had loved the place since then. They had spent numerous weekends there having lunch and high teas. The entire room glowed white, from the drapes on the columns to the upholstered chairs to the massive wash of flowers that seemed to bloom out of the fountain that was the centrepiece of the room.

She took a moment to push down her memories, and then headed toward the hostess stand. "I'm meeting my parents," she said, even as her mother rose from a table behind the fountain and waved at her.

"Mr Grayson's table. Of course. I will take you."

Elena followed. Everyone in town knew her father – the successful businessman who was going to win the election.

"Sweetheart, you look tired." Miranda engulfed her in a tight hug, then stood back and examined every inch of her daughter.

Elena shrugged, feeling ten all over again as she smoothed her sundress. "I'm okay," she said. "Just finished cheerleading practise."

"It is the football season, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"How is Matt?"

"Busy with practise. There is a match this weekend." Elena glanced around the room. "Where's daddy?" she asked in an effort to change the subject.

"We ran into the president of Fell Transportation." Miranda nodded across the room, where Grayson Gilbert stood by a table chatting amiably with a silver-haired man and two young girls who were obviously his daughters. "He will be back in a minute. In the meantime, you and I can order."

Their table was far enough from the fountain and the harpist that they could easily hear each other. They ordered lunch for all three of them, and then Miranda dived into all the mundane life stuff. Elena settled back, comfortable with the warm familiarity of the conversation.

"How is Caroline?" she asked.

"Busy with cheerleading."

"You girls are going to graduate this year, aren't you?" Miranda made maternal tsk-tsk noises. "Tell her she needs to put more time on education instead of cheerleading."

Elena bit back a smile, thinking Caroline would freak if she couldn't be a cheerleader anymore. "I will tell her."

"And why don't you and I go shopping soon? We haven't spent much time together recently."

"Shopping? I would love it," Elena said truthfully. "But you and daddy are so busy with the campaign. I don't want to be a nuisance."

"I'm sure we can work it out," she said dismissively. She lifted an arm, her smile bright. "Here comes Daddy."

Elena stood up and folded herself in her father's arms, and the comfort she found there was enough to make her forget about her desire for Damon for a while.

She had missed her parents so much. She was having a good time having lunch with them and talked about Miranda's fund-raising and the various charitable organizations she worked with and also the most recent update on how well Grayson's campaign was running.

As they had been talking, the waiter had come with their dessert. Elena smiled at her raspberry and chocolate parfait before taking a not-very-ladylike bite.

As she did, Grayson and Miranda exchanged a glance.

"What?" Elena said, afraid she was about to get called out for bad manners. "Did I do something?"

"I met Pete Donovan the other day," her father said. "That reminded me of something I wanted to talk to you about."

"Reminded," Elena repeated. She wiped her mouth and took a sip of her iced tea, then sat back and studied her father. He was not the kind of man who needed to be reminded of anything, and she realized with sudden insight that whatever he was about to say was the reason they had wanted her to join them for lunch in the first place. "Okay. I'm listening."

"We know your results are good all these years and there is no doubt you will graduate with flying colours."

"Hmm, hmm."

"We know you want to go to Whitmore," Miranda added.

"Yes."

"Pete is thinking about sending Matt to UCLA," her father continued, "which is a good choice."

"Oh." She nodded as if this all made sense. "Matt's results should get him to UCLA."

"UCLA is pretty outstanding for business and economics." He grinned at her, but she just shook her head, confused. "You, my darling, will do very well in UCLA. And the dean is very happy to take you in once you finish high school this year." He leaned over and captured her in a hug, then released her so that Miranda could repeat the process from her other side.

"Wait. Me?" Elena asked when the hugs and kisses were over. "You want me to go to UCLA?"

"Pete Donovan knows the dean at UCLA," Grayson said. "But the dean is happy with your good marks at school. So, once you have finished high school here, you can go straight to UCLA."

"It's exactly the kind of place you want to get your education, sweetie," Miranda said. "Matt will be there as well with you."

Elena nodded automatically. The truth was, she wasn't planning to go to UCLA. She wanted to go to Whitmore. But her were right. It was what she had worked so hard all these years. It was what she should have gone for.

Most important, it was what Matt had wanted.

But it wasn't what she wanted.

"It sounds great, daddy. But I want to go to Whitmore, not UCLA."

His face tightened. "You do what you have to do, of course. But you should know that there will be a lot more opportunities for you in the future if you go to UCLA. I promise you, baby, you will do very well in UCLA."

Her father reached out and took her hand and if she didn't know him better she would have sworn his eyes got misty. "I love you, Elena," he said, and her heart twisted both because she knew it was true. "I want you to have the best thing in the world."

"I know."

"You will go to UCLA then?" Her mother asked.

"Can I think about it? Please?" she begged. "Please give me some time."

Grayson smiled at her. "Of course, baby."

Elena turned down her father's offer to have his hired driver give her a lift home. She had told him she wanted to do some shopping, but mostly she just wanted to be alone. To walk and to think.

She had wanted to tell her father that she wasn't ready to move to Los Angeles. That she didn't want to go to UCLA with Matt. Whitmore was an excellent place for education and she knew a lot of people from Mystic Falls had attended Whitmore. And most important of all, she knew Bonnie and Caroline would go to Whitmore. Elena didn't want to leave her best friends behind.

And there was Damon. She wouldn't be able to see him again if she went to UCLA.

She was walking fast on the busy streets of the town centre, her feet moving in time with her churning thoughts. She dodged tourists and buskers and forced herself to focus on the faces of passing strangers and the overpriced clothes that filled the shop windows. Anything to turn off her thoughts.

It wasn't working, and so she walked even faster, so that all her mental energy was bound up by speed and the need to watch where she was going so she didn't mow down another pedestrian. She needed to get out of her own head. To erase all thoughts of the way Damon bailed on her and the way her father was navigating a path through her life.

An antsy feeling—edgy and raw—pressed hard against her. She told herself that she could handle this. She didn't need a rush; She just needed to get home. Avoid the stores, keep her focus, and don't do anything stupid.

By the time Elena reached her house, her hair was a frizzy mess, her muscles ached, she felt sticky with sweat, and her stomach was actually rumbling. So much for the lunch and dessert. But at least she had sort of pulled herself together.

Maria, one of the servants was in the foyer when she walked through the front door. "Mr. Donovan is waiting for you in the living room. Shall I make the two of you some afternoon tea?"

Elena shook her head, feeling at loose ends all over again. Her stomach twisted in knots, and eating was the last thing on her mind. "How long has he been here?"

"About an hour. I told him I wasn't sure when you would be back, but he asked to wait. He said he had some reading to catch up on and would enjoy sitting in the living room. I hope that isn't a problem."

"It is fine," Elena lied. And then, though she really just wanted to turn around and leave again, she steeled herself and headed for the living room.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and forcing herself to shake off the memory of Damon before she walked to the living room. She found Matt sitting on the sofa with a book in his hand.

"Hey," she said, before sitting in the sofa opposite him. He didn't look up from the book he was reading. She crossed her legs and sat back. Matt still didn't say a word. She felt edgy and uncomfortable, and considering she lived here and he didn't, her discomfort was all the more annoying.

"Matt?" she said, working hard to keep her voice light. "What are you doing here?"

He set the book aside, and then slowly turned his attention to her. His expression resembled a disapproving parent, and she had to force herself not to fidget in her seat as she thought of her night with Damon. "I came by a few hours ago. I wanted to see how you were."

"Oh." She shrugged. "You could have just called."

"I did. Twice, actually. I was concerned when you didn't answer."

"Twice?" For the first time it occurred to Elena to look at her phone, and she fished it out of her purse. The Do Not Disturb feature she had turned on last night only allowed calls from her parents to ring through, and she had forgotten to turn off the app.

She checked the screen and saw three missed calls. Two from Matt and one from Bonnie.

There was nothing from Damon.

"I was at Caroline's house this morning," she told Matt. "We had practise this morning. Then I met my parents at Mystic Falls Hotel for lunch." She shrugged as if this were no big deal. Then again, it was no big deal. They weren't married. They weren't engaged.

Not that those justifications quelled the guilty discomfort that was twisting like a serpent in her gut.

Matt regarded her silently for a moment. "I see," he finally said, and despite that ridiculous roiling guilt, her temper flared.

"What exactly do you see? Did I commit some horrible transgression at Caroline's house? Or maybe by dining at the hotel?"

"Is there something I should know about?" he asked, his tone of complete calm grating on her nerves like sandpaper.

"Of course not," she said automatically.

"Something between you and Damon Salvatore," he continued. The transition was smooth, but Elena heard the sharpness in his voice. And when she looked at his face, she saw both anger and hurt.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, but the righteous indignation she had wanted to infuse into her voice didn't quite make it past the guilt.

"Dammit, Elena. You were at the Destiny last night. The Destiny."

"Wait. You followed me?" Anger had Elena leaping to her feet.

"I didn't but someone told me."

"What's wrong with the Destiny?" She started pacing, a blur of fury and motion. "It's only a club. And I wasn't alone by myself. I'm not a child!"

Her rage didn't even faze him. "I was worried about you. Apparently I had reason to be." He stood up. "Damon Salvatore is not someone you can trust, Elena. I thought I made that clear that night. A guy like that is interested only in himself."

Elena came to a halt in front of him. "Really?" she said, lacing her voice with as much sarcasm as she could manage. "Because last night I ran into trouble, and Damon was there for me. Funny that I didn't see you there at all."

He leaned forward, putting his head in his hands, and then dragging his fingers through his short hair. "Dammit, Elena," he said. He lifted his face to look at her, and her anger faded under the genuine hurt she saw there. "How do you think it makes me feel when someone told me my girlfriend was dancing and kissing another man?"

Elena sank back into the sofa, suddenly exhausted. Her anger had fizzled. "I don't want to do this now."

"We are so right in so many ways," he continued, deaf to her protest. "Jesus, Elena. I just want you to talk to me. I just want you to tell me what you need."

"I thought I did."

He drew in a slow breath, and then let it out carefully. "Okay. Fair enough." He sat beside her. "I know I am busy with practise recently. I will do better, I will try harder." He bent and kissed the top of her head. "I want us to work."

He was barely pressing on her shoulders, and yet it felt as if he was trying to shove her into a tube that didn't quite fit, and suddenly Elena knew that if she had to do something about their relationship.

"Matt," she said softly. "We need to talk."

"Okay."

"You need to stay calm."

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't argue. Elena drew in a breath for courage.

"I'm not going to UCLA" she said.

"What?"

"I'm going to Whitmore."

"Whitmore," he repeated.

"I have always wanted to go to Whitmore," she explained. "I'm sorry, Matt," she said as she stood up to punctuate the point. "I'm sorry, but this just isn't going to work."


	7. Chapter 7

MYSTIC FALLS 2017

The rest of the meeting was blurred by her fury, although Elena manage to keep it in check until Enzo left her office so that he could personally call the rest of the investors in order to both dispel the rumours and announce Damon's participation.

"What the hell?" Elena snapped as soon as Enzo shut the door behind him. "What in the goddamn hell did you just do?"

She surged past to the control panel on the nearby credenza and hit the button to close the electronic blinds. She fully intended to scream and rage, and she damn sure didn't want an audience when she did it.

Damon, damn him, was brutally calm. "I'm just making sure that everyone has all the relevant information."

"What does that even mean?"

He moved to the window and stood beside it, looking all power and control, force and motion.

Today, he wore a finely tailored suit, and looked crisp and put together.

Or mostly put together.

And when she glanced down, she saw that his knuckles were raw. Those injuries weren't there last night, and as she stood there, Elena was absolutely certain that she was the reason for them.

She was not entirely sure how that made her feel.

He might be injured, but nothing about this man looked like a victim.

On the contrary, he was a man used to getting what he wanted—and right now, Elena knew that was exactly what he was doing.

"Dunham Lake has a lot of potential," he said, then turned from the window to face her. "It would be silly of me to turn down this project."

"That is a load of crap," Elena retorted. "You turned down the project yesterday without even blinking."

He simply shrugged. "Maybe I wasn't thinking properly."

Elena narrowed her eyes. "And now you are thinking properly? Don't give me that crap, Damon."

"True," he said. "DS Design needs a project like this, and if I do this, it will ultimately be known as a Damon Salvatore project." Damon met her eyes, his expression flat, but the corner of his mouth curved up just enough so that his amusement was plain. "Don't you agree?"

Since he had just tossed her words back in her face, Elena could hardly disagree.

"I'm ready, willing, and able to perform," Damon said. "You need to know that. The only question is whether the specific terms of the deal are acceptable, and I believe that's what you need to work out with me."

It was true. Elena was the one who put together the deal points with Wes, and now she was supposed to do the same with Damon.

How uncanny that she already knew what their sticking point will be. She.

His smile was wide and smug. "If it turns out that we can't come to terms, then it is Gilbert International's loss. But at least I will leave here knowing that you are aware that I was, at least for a time, ready to work on this resort. Enthusiastic, even," he added as he looked her up and down.

Elena felt a rush of sensual pleasure that, God help her, she did not want to feel. She didn't want to surrender. All she wanted to do was run.

She forced herself to stand taller. Straighter. To speak cleanly and crisply despite her frayed nerves. And, yes, despite her own damnable desire. "Why are you doing this?"

"You know why," he said as he strode to her. Elena held her ground, resisting the urge to move backward and clutch the credenza behind her. "Because I want you, Elena."

Damon reached out, then traced his fingertip along her collarbone as she stood stock-still, trying very hard not to shiver from the thrill of his touch.

"I want you naked," he whispered in a voice as tempting as sin. "I want you exposed. I want you open to me. And I think," he added in the kind of voice that would broach no argument, "that you want me, too."

Elena exhaled slowly and force herself to look at him. "Goddamn you, Damon Salvatore."

"I once told you that I'm a man who goes after what he wants, and that is still true. But here's a question for you, Elena. Are you a woman who does the same? You say you want this project, this resort. Prove it. It is here for the taking. Right now, the only obstacle is you."

She said nothing, because if she spoke, she was afraid of what she would say.

His eyes, like blue fire, met hers. "Tonight. Eight o'clock. Be ready for me."

x x x

Elena pulled open the door to the Grill and was immediately accosted by both the aromas of burgers and equally loud music.

"Elena!" Bonnie high-fived her as she slid into the booth across her friend. "Caroline is on her way…there she is!"

Elena turned around and saw her beautiful blonde friend strode towards them.

"Getting a carpark here at peak hour is a nightmare!" Caroline scowled as she took a seat next to Bonnie. "We should find another place for lunch next time."

"But I like the burgers here," Bonnie said.

"Well, I like the milkshakes here too," Caroline said as she plucked the plastic laminated menu out from its position between the napkin holder and the little carousel that held the condiments. She surveyed the offerings. "There are still milkshakes, burgers and chips."

"This place certainly hasn't changed much, has it?" Elena commented. "The Grill looks just like it did when we used to come here back when we were in high school."

"Looks the same." Bonnie glanced around before turning her attention back to the two women. "I hope the burgers still taste delicious."

Elena exchanged a grin with Bonnie and leaned back on her seat. A young man with short curly hair approached them and took their orders.

After the waitress left the table, Caroline glanced around the crowded café. Apparently satisfied that no one could overhear, she leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "Okay. Spill."

"He has agreed."

"What?" Caroline exclaimed.

"He turned up to the office this morning," Bonnie explained. "I was kind of surprised when Enzo told me that Damon wants to be part of the project."

"I thought he would never work for Gilbert International," Caroline said and then she looked at Elena. "You bitch. You told me you didn't sleep with him."

"I didn't. I swear. This one is not about sex. It's about—" Elena cut herself off, then sucked in a deep breath. "Okay, so here was what happened." She gave her friends the rundown, and watched as their eyes got wider and wider.

"That fucking prick," Bonnie hissed.

"He is a jerk," Caroline added.

"I have already called him that," Elena admitted. "And a few other choice names." She sighed "He has trapped me because I can't let the resort go."

Elena squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to cry. Wanting to cry.

And not being able to manage even one tear.

Not even that, Elena thought. Even that one small thing—the release of tears—and she couldn't manage it.

"I don't know what to do," she said, opening her eyes. "I'm lost."

"No." Caroline's face was as fierce as her voice. "No, don't you dare look at it that way. The resort means a lot to you. And so, you are using him. You," she repeated, pointing her fingertip at her. "You are using him. Using him to get what you want."

"Hey, don't you forget your fiancé is Damon Salvatore's best friend," Bonnie said.

"Klaus is his best friend but it doesn't mean I agree with what Damon is doing," Caroline said. "We all know Damon can be so difficult."

Elena gave them a fleeting smile. "Damon is Damon."

"What do you want, Elena?" Bonnie asked.

"The resort," Elena said. "I want the resort. And I'm taking steps."

"Yeah, you are. Just like you took the idea to John in the first place. You are doing what you need to do to get the job done. Your job," Caroline said.

"Yeah," Elena said, liking the way Caroline thought. "But my job is going to keep me pretty much attached to Damon's hip. Tonight," she said. "And then tomorrow, too."

Caroline's brows lifted. "Expecting an all-nighter, are you?"

Elena licked her lips. "Considering Damon's terms, don't you think I should be?"

Caroline winced. "Sorry."

"It is okay. And that wasn't what I meant anyway." She paused for dramatic effect. "We are having after-lunch cocktails with Lockwood Corporation tomorrow afternoon."

"Seriously?"

"Richard Lockwood's secretary called just before lunch and Richard had already asked Damon. Just casual food and drinks," Bonnie explained. "Sort of like a welcome to the project thing by the mayor since Lockwood Corporation is one of the main investors of this project."

"Bonnie is right. It is exactly what I should have expected, because that is the nature of this job. I'm the project manager and our schedule is tight. We are going to be working together pretty intimately." Elena exhaled, because the truth was that when she factored in Damon's ultimatum, there weren't going to be many moments between now and the completion of the project when she was not right there at Damon's side.

"Working with Damon closely," Elena repeated. "I don't think I will look forward to it."

"You can do it, Elena," Bonnie said.

"I'm not so sure myself," Elena said.

Caroline pointed her finger at Elena again. "You can do it, babe. Like I said, you are the one using him. Your resort. Your project."

Elena looked at her friends. "Both of you think I can handle him?"

"Why not?" Bonnie challenged. "You can handle a multi-million-dollar family business. I can't see why you can't handle a man."

"Bonnie is right," Caroline added. "Damon Salvatore is only a man." She made a face. "With pretty blue eyes."

Elena laughed. She couldn't help it. "A man with pretty blue eyes."

"That's right," both of the women concurred.

She drew in a breath, then nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I think I can deal with a man with pretty blue eyes."

x x x

Bonnie and Caroline had offered drinks after work but Elena had declined their offer. She wanted some time alone by herself before meeting Damon.

Now, it was not even seven and Elena was already home, and as she got out of her SUV, she was glad of the extra time. Damon said he would arrive by eight. That gave her almost an hour to chill. And to maybe, hopefully, find some peace with her decision.

After she had her shower, she just stood there in her bedroom, a little at loose ends.

Damon.

He was going to be here shortly. And, yes, Elena might be armed with her plan to use him before he could use her—to treat him just like any of the guys she had meet all these years—but that didn't change the fact that in the end, he would have his hands on hers. His mouth on hers.

And oh, dear God, his cock inside her.

And the sick, horrible truth?

Despite the fact that he had forced her hand and tricked his way into her bed, Elena could not deny that she wanted him there. And she hated herself just a little for that.

Her phone rang, and she was grateful for the distraction. She smiled when she checked the caller ID and saw that it was her mother.

"Hey, mum. How's Hawaii?"

"You should be here with us," her mother said. "This place is absolutely beautiful. You will love it."

Elena smiled. "How's dad? Is he with you now?"

"He is in the shower. But we will go out for dinner tonight. There is a jazz band here at the hotel's bar tonight. We may have a drink there after dinner."

"Sounds like fun," Elena said, meaning it.

"Totally."

Elena was happy for her parents. After Grayson had suffered a massive heart attack five years ago, he had decided to spend more time with his wife. They had been travelling around in the last five years and Elena could tell they were really happy.

"Are you still at working, darling?" Her mother asked. "Don't work too hard."

"No, I'm at home," Elena said. "I'm meeting someone at eight."

"John told me about the whole architect snafu. And how you ended up going to the premiere to meet with Damon Salvatore. And persuade him …"

"Is that what John told you?" Elena asked, all the more mortified that her mother had landed scarily close to the truth.

There was a short silence at the other end.

"Elena," Miranda finally said. "I know it will be hard on you to work with Damon."

"I can deal with him," Elena lied. "It is business, nothing else."

"There are always better choices than Damon Salvatore."

"Mum, you don't know anything about architecture."

"True. There is no doubt Damon is very outstanding in what he does. But because of, uh your relationship with him in the past…"

"I'm capable of dealing with things here."

"You are sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure. mum, I'm not in high school anymore. Or even college, for that matter. I have been getting by out there in the big bad world all on my own for quite a while now."

There was another brief pause.

"You know the complications of having a Salvatore in your life."

Elena sighed. "I know."

"And he is all over the internet this morning. Everyone is talking about his newest "takeover target"."

"Who?"

"Damon Salvatore."

"No, the woman. Who is the newest "takeover target"?"

"Rose Amber."

"The actress?"

"Yeah."

Elena frowned. That was why the brunette on Damon's arm had looked so familiar. She remembered the way they had looked last night, and the way seeing their picture in the paper had felt like a knife twist.

She told herself she was not going to ask—and then of course she did exactly that. "What do you mean the newest "takeover target"?"

"Rumour is they are dating," Miranda said.

"Like, serious dating?" She cringed the second the words left her mouth. She was not with Damon—their absurd arrangement notwithstanding—and she did not intend to be with Damon in the future. So, who he dated was no business of hers. In all the rabid press coverage of his personal life, she had never seen a single piece of information that implied he lived other than alone. She felt unaccountably better now that she had remembered that.

"I don't think so," Miranda said, and Elena was uncomfortably but undeniably relieved. "To be honest, I think she wants the female lead in that movie they are doing about that Santa Fe house he built. You know, the one that had all the gossip after the family moved in. Sex and murder and suicide."

"I know the stories," Elena said. "And I knew that Hollywood's been buzzing about doing a feature film that centres on Damon. But I didn't know it was about that house." Honestly, she wasn't sure why it would be. The whole murder-suicide stuff happened after the project was wrapped and Damon was off to conquer the next mountain of stone and steel. "How the hell could I not have heard that?"

"Why would you?" Miranda asked, which was a good question considering she didn't know that she had followed every bit of Damon Salvatore's trivia over the last ten years.

"I don't think it is public knowledge," her mother continued. "I think they are keeping it pretty close to the vest. I guess Damon was not thrilled. I suspect he was the reason the woman went ape shit."

"The woman?" Her mother had completely lost her.

"In the story. The woman who murdered her sister and then killed herself. It was because of Damon. At least in the script, anyway. Not sure about real life."

Elena realized she had tightened her grip on her phone to the point that it was painful. "Oh, my god," she said, because she could think of nothing else. "Is it true? I mean, what does that mean, 'because of Damon'?"

"Not a clue. But there is another rumour that he beat the first screenwriter. Also unconfirmed," she said, and Elena couldn't help but think about Damon's temper. About the way his knuckles looked so raw today.

"But what I can confirm," Miranda continued, "is that he doesn't want the movie made at all. That I know is true because Alaric Saltzman represents him."

"It sounds like a huge mess," Elena said.

"It is." Another short silence hummed on the line. "That is the reason why I'm worried about you."

"Mum, listen, I really don't—"

"I don't want to intrude on your personal life, but I am your mother."

"I know." Elena sighed. "You got to do what a mum has got to do."

"I think you should assume that nothing has changed with Damon."

"What?"

"Your father and I warned you to stay away from him ten years ago because you could never handle his dark's dealing and secrets."

Elena winced. She had a feeling her mother was right. "I understand, mum."

"Stay away from him, Elena," Miranda said. "He is not the right man for you."

"Did dad know about this?"

"No."

"Please don't tell him, mum," Elena begged. "Trust me, I can deal with this."

"Elena…"

"I know what I'm doing. It is strictly business."

She was not sure how long she stood there with her head full of Damon, her mind spinning in a freakish mix of desire and question, angst and anticipation after she hung up the phone. But there was no way she was obsessing over this for another half an hour, much less another minute. Instead, she opened her wardrobe, trying to find something suitable to wear. If she wanted to win this battle, she had to prepare herself.

Before she could decide what to wear, she heard her doorbell rang. She was not even close to ready for tonight, and she jumped a little, only to sag in relief when she heard her servant Maria calling out, "There is a delivery for you, Miss Gilbert."

Elena opened her door and Maria passed her a box wrapped in plain white paper and topped with a bright red bow.

Under the bow was a tag—and the tag said, Wear Me. From Damon Salvatore.

When she opened the box and peel open the tissue paper, she smiled. There was a beautiful black lace corset dress. And then, she frowned. What was Damon thinking? What was this gift about?

It hit her. She realised exactly what he was trying to do. This was about revenge, after all. About Damon getting payback for what happened ten years ago.

She took a breath, then another, trying to calm down. He wanted to play dirty? Well, screw him.

He wanted to play games, then fine. They would play games.

Elena felt sad when she was changing. Because every moment of every hour she had spent with Damon was burned into her mind. She had clung tight to those memories for ten years, pulling them out to soothe her when she felt lost and alone.

For years, she had been silently grateful to Damon for at least giving her those memories. She had spun their time together into night-time fantasies and daytime dreams. She had made him a hero in her mind.

A knight, a protector. A man willing to make the sacrifice to keep her safe, and he had proven it by walking away when she told him to.

That Damon would never want revenge and he wouldn't try to break her. He was a man worthy of her fantasies.

And he was not the man who was coming to her door tonight.

She needed to remember that, Elena thought. She needed to keep it perfectly clear in her mind that the Damon of today was playing games. And if she wanted to have any chance of surviving this round unscathed, she needed to play, too. More than that, she needed to win.

x x x

Elena was in her bedroom when the doorbell rang promptly at eight.

She had been standing there, her body angled to put the lingerie to best effect as she looked at herself in the mirror.

She started to wear the dress, expecting another ring. An annoyed second try, because how dare she made him wait.

But the next sound was not a ring Instead, it was a sharp rap at her bedroom door, and Elena tensed because just that tiny deviation from the plan was enough to rattle her nerves.

Get it together, Elena. Just keep it together.

"One second," she called, and then she wore the dress slowly. Not because she wanted to make him wait—though that was an unexpected side benefit—but because her hands were shaking just enough to make the task more difficult than it should be.

She took one deep breath followed by another. And then she went to the door.

She stood tall as she pulled it open, because she wanted to look confident. Nonchalant. Like this was just any other date on any other day. But all of her good intentions went to hell the moment she saw him.

Damon was leaning casually against the door frame in khaki slacks and a faded denim button-down. His hair was slicked back from his face, and his eyes were hidden behind aviator style glasses. He hadn't shaved and Elena couldn't help the way her fingers itch to stroke the stubble that made him look even more masculine and delicious.

Without a word, he took off the glasses to reveal eyes that were filled with so much wicked promise it made her aware of how very little she wore beneath this dress.

It was not the reaction Elena wanted—tonight, he was supposed to melt for her, not the other way around. And so, she cocked her head and kept her face blank, the kind of expression she had relied on to get her through so many of the business meetings in the past few years.

"Maria should ask you to wait in the living room."

"I prefer to wait for you here," he said, then stepped past her into her room. As he did, their hands brushed, and although Elena didn't want to feel anything, there was no denying the sparks that this man generated in her. She told herself that was okay. She could use that. She could let her own attraction to him fuel her performance.

And she could let his attraction to her cement his fall.

"The dress looks lovely on you," Damon said, examining her with a look so incendiary it was a wonder her blood didn't boil. "But I knew it would. Black always looks good on you. Sexy and seductive. You probably know that already, right?"

Elena leaned against the wall beside the door, feeling a bit trapped as he stood in front of her, just close enough to be inside her personal space. Just close enough for her to catch his scent.

"Don't tell me you have forgotten how sexy and seductive you are." His words were husky, and as he reached out, she drew in a breath, unprepared for his touch. But it was not her he was reaching for, and when she realized that all he was doing was closing the door, she released a shaky breath—and cursed the wave of disappointment that crashes over her.

"I haven't," he continued, apparently unconcerned that she had yet to say a word. "When we were together, you were always seductive and you knew you were sexy like hell. You knew how to fill my thoughts. You made me hot. You made me need. Open your eyes," he demanded, and she did, surprised to realize that she had shut them in the first place.

He was right there, so close Elena could feel his heat. So near that all she would have to do was lean slightly forward to feel him warm and hard against her.

Elena did the opposite, leaning back, her palms flat against the wall behind her as she desperately wished that she could sink into the wall and simply disappear.

"Tell me you remember, princess. Tell me you remember how it felt."

Elena wanted to stay silent—to prove to him that even though he thought that he took control the moment he walked through her doorway, it wasn't true.

Except, of course, it was. She might have hoped to keep the upper hand, but she should have known better. She knew the man, didn't she? And she knew herself, too.

"Tell me," he repeated.

She tilted her head back and met his eyes. And she gave him the answer he was looking for. "Yes. I remember. And I remember you wanted me."

"I did. I do." His smile was thin and cunning and just a little bit wicked. "Looks like I'm about to get what I want." As gently as a summer breeze, he brushed his fingertip over the swell of her breast.

Elena drew in a breath, determined to fight against the heat that even so simple a touch was fuelling in me.

"I think you are going to get what you want too, princess."

"I want the resort, Damon." She met his eyes, making sure that hers showed nothing but cold calculation. "The resort. And like you, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to get exactly what I want."

As far as Elena could tell, her words didn't faze him at all. If anything, he seemed amused. "It is never wise to tease a dragon, princess."

"Stop calling me that."

Damon cocked his head, as if considering. "My rules," he said. "Or had you forgotten already?"

"Dammit, Damon." Elena didn't know why the nickname bothered her when his touch did not. She hated being called princess. She was not a weak little girl needing to be rescued.

She pushed away from the wall and then pushed past him, away from this corner in which he had trapped her and where her face and body revealed far too much.

Elena hurried downstairs and stopped by the front door. She had to get out, not trapped in here with a man she could not deny she wanted. A man whose mere presence made her just a little bit crazy even though she needed to hang on tight to cold rationality.

She heard his footsteps behind her and she was expecting it when he placed his hand on her shoulder. Even so, she closed her eyes as if in defence against the powerful surge of longing that cut through her when he bent his head and kissed the back of her neck.

"Don't," Elena whispered.

"Don't? I believe the terms of my offer were clear." Damon took a step back and his eyes met hers. "So, you tell me. Do we have a deal? Or you want to tell your investors that I'm not your guy, after all?"

"Dammit, Damon. Why are you doing this?"

"You know why."

She shook her head, though that was a lie. Because she did know. It was retribution. It was punishment.

"No? Well then, let me tell you. I'm doing this because I want you to remember." His lips brushed her neck again, then moved up to dance lightly upon the curve of her ear, making her trembled with sensual longing.

"I'm doing this because I want you to understand what you gave up." His hands stroke her shoulders until he reaches the bare skin of her arms. He continued, finally finding her hands and twining his fingers with hers.

"I want you to know the future that you threw away, princess," he said, as he lifted their joined hands to cup them over her breasts.

Elena stiffened, her body a riot of emotions and sensations. She wanted to lash out against him—to tell him to go to hell, because she damn well knew what she had given up. She knew it as well as she knew that she had to. And at the same time, she wanted to melt into him. To let his touch take her all the places that she had imagined over the last ten years. To let him have her so fully and completely.

But that, of course, was impossible.

Most of all, Elena wanted to turn in his arms and kiss him. She wanted the Damon she once had, not the one who stood here today. Not the one who saw only the woman who hurt him, and not the woman who could have fallen in love with him.

And so, Elena did nothing. She just stood there, trying hard to ignore the sensation of her hands upon her body—of his hands upon her own. Trying to breathe. Trying to get centred.

And trying desperately to remember that it had been her plan all along to take charge of this night, and wondering how things could have turned so horribly sideways.

Finally, she pushed her hands back down to herd sides, then force herself to turn around even though he didn't step back. He was so close that their bodies were brushing, and she had to tilt her head back in order to see his face.

"That really is what this is about, isn't it? You just want to punish me."

"Hell yes," he said. "And I think that is what you want, too."

"Excuse me?"

"Maybe you feel guilty about ending it the way you did. Maybe that is why you have agreed to my terms."

"I haven't agreed to anything. You ambushed me."

For a moment, Elena thought she saw compassion in his eyes. Then they went cold again. Good. She wanted them to be ice. She wanted them to freeze her. She didn't want to melt for this man. She didn't want to feel the heat. She didn't want to succumb to the guilt that he was so damn right about.

"I see right through you, princess," he finally said. "And you can play games all you want, but you and I both know that you are fighting. Well, guess what? I am, too. And I'm not accustomed to losing."

Damon reached out and ever so slowly unzipped the dress.

"What are you doing?"

"What you are letting me do."

"I—"

"You can stop me, princess. Just say the word."

Elena licked her lips, but she did not move and she did not protest. She told herself that she could not back down—she could not give up the resort.

But that wasn't the only truth, and she knew it as well as he did

The truth was she wanted this, too. And since she couldn't willingly give it, then she would acquiesce to letting him take it.

"Good girl," he said, as he unzipped her dress to reveal the black lace of the demi-cup bra, the swell of her breasts, and her very erect, very sensitive, nipples.

"Like I said," he murmured, then bent close to take her nipple between his lips. He sucked, drawing it in, then grazing the tender flesh with his teeth and sending coils of red-hot desire spinning though her to throb with violent intensity between her legs. "You want this as much as I do."

"You bastard," she said, and Damon only laughed.

"Princess, you don't even know the half of it."

He returned his mouth to her breast, his lips skimming her cleavage as he moved to find her other nipple. "You taste so good," he murmured, his lips never leaving her skin.

Oh, god.

His teeth nipped her, and Elena arched in pleasure, understanding that this was not just a sensual tease but a silent demand.

She kept her back to the patio door, because what he was doing to her breasts was making her crazy, and she was afraid that if she didn't have that support her legs would simply give out.

When Damon pulled back, removing his mouth from her breast, she had to bite back a whimper of protest.

"Don't fight it, princess," he said. "I see it on your face, in the flush of your skin. Even in your eyes, that you are trying to keep so cool and hard. Don't you know that I see what you want? That I feel what you need?"

Her traitorous body ached with the desire for him to touch her, and she could only stand there frozen, unable and unwilling to give in to his games.

Elena shook her head. "Damon. No."

His jaw tightened. "I want the truth, Elena."

Her name sounded soft on his lips, and she sagged a bit, losing some of her defiance. "The truth is we are not meant to be."

"I don't believe you," he said with more than a little irony in his voice. "You wanted me ten years ago."

"I was eighteen." She shrugged, because there really was no more to say.

"Why?"

"Does it matter?" Elena snapped.

"Why?" he asked again, this time more gently.

"I told you why! We are not meant to be."

It was a lie. But she couldn't tell that to Damon.

Her father had been on the fast track in the political world. It was obvious even back then that he had the charisma, the glibness and the looks required to grab and hold the media's and the public's attention. It was clear that, barring some major disaster, he would go far, maybe all the way to Washington, D.C. But to everyone's surprise, he had pulled out of the race because of ubiquitous personal reasons.

Elena knew the reason. Politics were expensive. All her father required was money. Lots of it. Nobody would have guessed Grayson would have scammed everyone. Together with Logan Fell and Richard Lockwood, these three men had tried to put up a very complicated pyramid scheme. God only knew how they intended to pull it off.

They were so close but things blew up in their face. Grayson was blackmailed and he knew he could not keep it all hushed up. There wasn't any other viable option. It was obvious that Grayson was going down and he knew the campaign was finished, so he was forced to quit the race.

To complicate matters, there were rumours that Giuseppe Salvatore and Mikael Mikaelson were behind the blackmail, threatening Grayson to quit the race. They did not want Grayson to win but his opponent, Pastor Young who would always stand by their side.

Grayson was furious and had demanded Elena to end her relationship with Damon. She couldn't explain the reason to him. She knew him well. Damon would not let it go and find out the truth. She couldn't risk exposing her father's scam. Her father would end up in jail and she couldn't take the chance.

For a moment, Damon said nothing, he simply looked at her. Then he picked her dress up and handed it to her. "Put it on."

"But—" Elena was not sure why she was protesting, she only knew that she was confused. Damon should be furious. But he wasn't.

"It is well after eight," he said, though his voice sounded tired enough that it could be after midnight. "I think it is time I take you to dinner."

x x x

When they had arrived at the restaurant, Elena hadn't known what to expect. Damon's mood had shifted in her house, going from heated demand to practiced politeness, as if they were a couple out on a first date, each being slightly careful around the other.

His choice of restaurant had surprised her as well. They had never gone out for sushi in the past, but she had mentioned once that it was her favourite food. She considered asking if he had come here on purpose, but the truth was she wanted to believe it had been intentional, and didn't want to know if coming here had been little more than a coincidence.

Damon had insisted that they sat next to each other, and so they had both taken a coloured cushion on the side of the table facing the sliding door. Elena kept anticipating his touch, and yet there was none. Instead, he was practiced politeness, asking her about what she had done in the past ten years and how she came to be the project manager for The Resort at Dunham Lake.

And the entire time Elena was going a little bit nuts. He wasn't touching her at all. He was a perfect gentleman. This was, for all intents and purposes, a perfectly lovely date.

It was what she had told herself she wanted—to have Damon back off from his ridiculous game. To simply work with him and not get her head and her emotions all twisted up.

And yet…

And yet there she was, her body primed, her heart skittering with every movement and casual brush of his hand as she wondered if, maybe, he was finally going to touch her.

Nor did it help that she was certain that Damon was intentionally tormenting her. And yet she had no proof whatsoever. His conversation was smooth, his manner polite.

And even so, he was slowly and methodically driving her crazy.

"So, you got the idea for the resort from nothing more than a newspaper article?" he asked.

Elena didn't remember answering, but she must have, because she remembered distinctly that he put his hand on her thigh and started unzipping her dress while she was telling him about the Dunham Lake.

She froze, the words stumbling over her tongue. She had the ridiculous urge to scoot away, but damn, hadn't she been craving this very thing, despite all her good sense and judgement?

She knew she had to fight it. To hide it.

And goddamn him, Elena couldn't deny the fact that the secret pleasure made the sensation of his finger playing with her much more incredible.

"Interesting," Damon urged now as his finger stroke small circles on her clit, making her head spin and her thoughts scatter.

"Damon, I…"

"Tell me," he repeated, and so she did. She told him about the research she did on Dunham Lake and how she acquired the land.

"You sound like a woman who gets what she wants," Damon said.

"I'm."

"So am I," Damon whispered as he thrust three fingers inside her, touching her with his hand, and she writhed against the motion, wanting him to go deeper, trying to feel the brush of his skin against her clit as her thoughts continued to spin and her mind lost focus.

"What is it you want?" Elena gasped, as spirals of pleasure seem to burst around her.

"You," he said. "At my mercy."

And with those four simple words, he withdrew his hand and her pleasure. "I think," he said casually, "that it is time to eat."

Elena was frustrated and antsy and thoroughly pissed off during the meal. He had taken her right to the precipice, then left her dangling, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized that the meal—though it had all her favourite rolls and sashimi—held very little appeal.

There was instead something she wanted much, much more, and she put down her chopsticks and slid her left hand under the table to rest upon his thigh. He glanced sideways at her, but didn't protest. Not even when she slowly eased her hand up, higher and higher until she found his cock, hard and thick beneath his slacks.

Elena smiled, once again feeling powerful and in control as she slowly stroke him, then eased her fingers up to search for his zipper.

"Stop."

His voice was low and simple and he did not look at her.

She found the zipper pull and started to ease it down. "What if I don't want to stop?"

"Then don't." Damon turned now and looked straight at her. There was heat in his expression, and amusement as well. "That is what free will is all about."

"Exactly," she said, happy to have finally turned the tables.

"But if you don't stop, I will."

Elena halted her effort to carefully unzip him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it is up to you. Do you want me to touch you? Stroke you, make you come?"

She did not answer, but she had also stopped moving.

"Do you want pleasure, Elena? Or do you want the more hollow satisfaction of thinking that somehow you have managed to best me, when we both know in the end I will have you naked and open to me, limp and sated. And the more you come in my arms, the sweeter my victory will be."

She swallowed, not entirely certain she could form words right then, even if she had to.

"Surrender, princess, and surrender to me completely. Don't stop, and I will be the only one who gets off for a very, very long time."

Elena believed him. And while she wished she had the strength to follow through and make him come—to sacrifice her own pleasure for the sake of a victory—she just couldn't do it.

She pulled her hand away.

"Good choice," he said, and there was no denying both the heat and the victory in his voice. "I promise, sweetheart, that you won't regret it."

He nodded at the table and she realized that they had finished the meal. "Dessert?"

Elena shook her head.

"No? I want dessert. I just don't want it here." He brushed his finger over her lower lip. "A moment," he said, then stood. He went to the door, slid it open, then signalled for the check.

As he was returning to the table, her phone rang.

"Who's calling?"

She rummaged her my phone. "My mother."

Elena glanced down at the screen and felt the blood drain from her face as she read the text message.

Hey, darling. Your dad is worried about you. We are coming home in three days. Miss you. See you soon.

"Something wrong?"

She realized that she had been staring at the phone for a hell of a lot longer than it took to read one text message.

"I—no. Not a thing. Just give me a sec." She managed a smile as she typed out a response, but was frustrated to see that her hands are shaking.

She forced herself to look up at him, then flashed as bright a smile as she could manage. "So, check all taken care of?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "We can go."

She smiled, trying her best to look normal, and followed him out of the restaurant.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Elena turned to look at him, surprised. "I didn't think that conversation was part of tonight's program." Her words came out harsher than she meant, and she immediately regretted them. Despite everything, there was genuine concern in his voice, she truly didn't mean to be a bitch.

"I'm sorry," she said. "And no. I would rather not talk about it. Really," she added, because the expression on his face suggested that he was going to argue.

Damon nodded reluctantly, and they continued walking in silence. But the odd thing was that she felt a bit better. The night was cool and clear, the air crisped and sweet-smelling. And despite the fact that she hurt him so deeply, the man at her side still cared about her. At least a little.

It was enough to sweep away her anger. And, frankly, tonight she had enough on her mind with Damon. She didn't need her family in her head, too.

Elena frowned as they passed the valet stand. "Aren't you getting your car?"

"Not just yet," Damon said as a liveried doorman greeted them. With Damon's hand pressing gently against the small of her back, they entered the stunning lobby of Mystic Falls Hotel.

"I love this hotel," she said. "I have always liked this hotel."

"I'm glad you like it," Damon says. "I thought we would have a drink here."

"Really?" She looked around for the lobby bar.

"No. Not in the bar." He headed toward the registration counter, and she followed, a little bit curious—and a little bit certain that she knew exactly where this was going.

"Damon Salvatore," he told the girl. "I booked a room this afternoon."

"Of course, Mr. Salvatore." She handed him his key. "Is there anything else you need?"

"I spoke with the sommelier earlier as well. I would like a bottle of the Petrus Pomerol 1998 sent up to the room. Two glasses. And caviar, please."

Her eyes have gone a little wide, and Elena understood why. Her parents had ordered five bottles of that very vintage last Christmas to send as gifts to some of Gilbert International most important clients. Even with her father's wholesale sources, the bottles sold for over a grand each.

"Of course, Mr. Salvatore," she said, apparently remembering herself. "I will have that sent right up."

Up turns out to be the penthouse, and Elena had to admit that even after she had been travelling a bit since she had become the CEO, she had never stayed in such highbrow accommodations. She knew she should play it cool, but she had to confess that she goggled a bit. So much, in fact, that she was still standing near the ornate double doors when the room service waiter knocked. She scrambled out of his way as he wheeled in a small table with the wine, two glasses, and a spectacular selection of caviar. Damon lets the waiter uncorked the wine, but declined his offer to pour. And as soon as the man was gone from the room, he crooked his finger at her.

"Come," he said, and Elena couldn't help but think about how many meanings that simple word had.

"You certainly have a way to impress a woman," She said. "My favourite dinner. A penthouse suite. Caviar. And one of the most expensive bottles of wine in the history of the universe."

"I don't know that it's quite that pricey."

She merely looked dubious.

"Like I said, princess. I want you to remember everything you gave up."

"Dammit, Damon…" She cut off her words.

"No. I don't want to hear that you had to. I don't want to hear that you are sorry."

"No?" She heard the exasperation in her voice. "Then what the hell do you want?"

"I thought I was clear," he said as he poured a glass of wine and strode towards her. He paused just inches away and handed her the wine. She took a sip, barely even noticing the incredible palate. She was too intent on watching Damon to notice something as unimportant as wine.

He was looking at her up and down with the kind of intensity designed to make a woman melt, and it was clear from his expression that while he was hungry, it was not for caviar.

"I want to take you to the edge and back," he said as he unzipped dress. She stood perfectly still as he peeled it off her body. "I want to watch you lose control," he continued, and he unfastened her bra and slowly removed it. "I want to make you come," he said as he eased her out of her shoes and stockings, then unhooked the garter and let it fall to the floor. "And, princess," he added as he hooked his finger in the band of the thong and pulled so hard the elastic snaps, making her flinch, although she did not otherwise move. "I want to make you scream."

He leaned in and kissed her, soft and sweet, like a man seeking sanctuary, and in sharp contrast to the brutality of his words and the way he stripped her from the last of my clothes. "But first things first."

Elena stood there, her mouth tingling from his kiss, not entirely certain what just happened. One moment she was standing there, facing a slow seduction with caviar and wine. The next, she was naked and hot and more turned on than she wanted to be by the wildness of his words.

"With me," he said, then led her into the gorgeously appointed bedroom. It was done in beige and brown, with some cream thrown in, and looked both comfortable and elegant.

Damon nodded towards the bed, and she sat on the edge. He looked at her a moment, as if considering, and though she tried to discern his thoughts, she could not read his face.

He moved to the window and laid his hand flat on the glass. She saw his eyes in the reflection, and she knew that he was looking at her. "I need you to tell me something."

Elena was relieved by his words since now she would perhaps have some clue as to what was going on in his head. "Sure," she said. "Anything."

"Are you still sleeping with him?"

She had been starting to stand, using her arms to help lever her off the foot of the bed. They went limp, and she fell back onto the mattress. She was more confused than angry, and her reply of "Who?" sounded lost and anaemic even to her ears.

He turned his back to the window, his blue eyes now focused intently on her. "Matt Donovan," he said, as if they were discussing the weather. "So, I want to know if you are still sleeping with him."

Now anger launched her to her feet. "Matt? Are you insane? We broke up…"

"You left me." Gone was the calm tone, the bland expression. He was wild now, ferocious as he strode the short distance across the room to stand in front of her.

His anger was no match for hers, though, and their joined fury seemed to fill the room, making the air buzz and pop. All they needed was a lit match, and they would both go up in flames. "Ten years ago, you left me so you could go back to Matt Donovan."

Without thinking, Elena lashed out, slapping him hard across his left cheek. She hoped it hurt. She hoped it brought him to his knees.

Damon grabbed her upper arms, tight enough to bruise, and yanked her towards him. She could see the wildness in him, could feel the tempest building between them. For a moment, she was not sure if he was going to hit her or kiss her, and he better not goddamn did either, because she was as close to losing it right now as he was.

She did nothing, though; she knew better than to poke a wounded animal. And after a moment, he pushed her away. "Damn."

She backed off, breathing hard. She leaned against the bed as she watched him pace the room. Once, twice, until he stopped at the window again. Until he lashed out once more, the force of his hand against the glass making the images in the window shimmer, as if the fury of this one man had upset the balance of the world.

Slowly, very slowly, she walked towards him. She paused behind him, close enough to reach out and touch him, although she did not. "I told you before—I left because I had to."

"You left me. I thought you went straight back into Donovan's arms."

"No. I didn't leave you for Matt, and I swear on my life that I have not slept with him since I broke up with him."

He pulled her to him, the motion so unexpected that she gasped, and as she did, he closed his mouth over hers. The kiss was wild and hard and almost painful. Teeth clashing, mouths burning. It was a claiming, not a kiss. A battle, not a seduction. And when he backed away, Elena was breathing hard, a little bit aroused and a lot lost.

"Damon…"

"Why did you leave me?"

She swallowed. "I have my reasons."

"What reasons?"

She turned away from him, unable to look at him without crying. "Don't ask. Please don't ask."

Damon turned her to face him. "You still care about me, Elena. You still want me. Am I right?"

But she didn't answer. Instead, she pulled her arm free and picked up the dress, ignoring the ripped underwear and not bothering with the bra. "It is late. I need to go."

"You didn't answer my question."

She felt the heat rise in her face. Damn . "I don't owe you any answers."

"Ah. So, I'm right."

She shimmied into her dress without saying a word before retrieving her shoes and walking towards the door. She had to leave right now.

"You still have feelings for me."

She put out her hand and closed her fingers around the doorknob. "Take me home, Damon."

"Fine." He walked past her and opened the door.

The ride back to her house was the longest trip of Elena's life. But she was thankful that Damon hadn't said much.

Damon wheeled the Camaro with grim intent, eyes locked on the road, He wasn't happy with the fact that Elena had refused to tell him the reasons why she had ended their relationship. They would talk more, Damon vowed. He had promised himself that he would take up where they left off. They had too much unfinished business between them. Like the way she flamed in his arms just now, for starters. And the dryness in his throat when he saw her in the black lace corset dress tonight. He wanted to hear her laughter and watch her skin flush with desire again when they made love. Which they would, he swore.

His foot pressed down on the accelerator.


	8. Chapter 8

_MYSTIC FALLS 2007_

Elena needed to get lost. Needed to get free. Her head was swimming with everything that was going on around her—her parents and Matt. And Damon. At the centre of it all, there was always Damon. His proximity. His desire. His heat.

His rejection.

She felt as if her mind—hell, as if her life—was trying to tune in to a particular frequency and all it could find was static. As if she was bouncing around lost in the stratosphere with no rope, no guide, to bring her back down to where she belonged.

She was anxious and frantic and needy and confused. She needed release even as much as she needed an anchor. She needed to appease the demons. She needed—

Oh, hell, Elena didn't know what she needed. But she knew that whatever it was, adrenaline would soothe it. If she could just manufacture that wild rush of sensation, then maybe all this static in her head would go away. Maybe she could get clear. Maybe she could think.

Because she damn sure wasn't thinking right then. Not as she barrelled down the streets, pushing past other pedestrians, ignoring crossing signals, and letting her feet eat up the pavement.

And she wasn't thinking when she wandered into department stores. When she let her fingers trailed idly over blouses, over jeans, over purses and samples of cologne.

She wasn't interested in shopping but she didn't know what to do.

She was just looking around, just letting her fingers dance over the countertops, the displays. She picked up a pair of earrings, and then held them up as she inspected my image in mirror.

Nice, she thought. But it didn't suit her.

She put them back, unimpressed.

She picked up a pair of sunglasses and returned them, too, equally unimpressed.

Tourists and locals hurried by her, some ignoring her completely, others glancing warily at her direction. But she barely saw them.

She was a mess. A horrible, raging, fucked up mess. And all I could think about was the way Damon had held me. The way he had soothed her.

He was what she craved. More, he was what she needed.

But Elena couldn't have him. And that one simple truth would end up breaking her.

It took a few hours to pull herself together, and she spent the time wandering aimlessly down the town centre and the intersecting streets. Even then, she still didn't feel clear. She needed to get it out, to talk about what was churning around inside of her. She needed familiarity and forward motion.

Naturally, she called Caroline.

She told her about her parents wanting her to go to UCLA, and she had broken up with Matt

And, in true BFF fashion, Caroline known exactly what to do—a girls' night in.

They had made cupcakes, licked the mixing bowl, drank beer, and talked about nonsense, all of which had brought Elena down to the level of feeling human. And maybe even slightly centred.

Now they were kicked back in Caroline's living room, fresh beers in their hands and a plate of warm cupcakes between them. Caroline had control of the remote and she had been scrolling through the channels, looking for something to watch.

"How did Matt take the whole break up thing?" Caroline said. "Was he okay?"

"I guess so," Elena said, which wasn't entirely accurate. Matt was clearly upset when she told her that she wasn't going to UCLA and things wouldn't work out between them.

"Matt is tough," Caroline said. "He will survive."

"I hope so."

"A mistake," Caroline said, repeating what Elena had told her about Damon's parting comment. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Beats me," Elena said

"It is obvious that he wants you."

Elena shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know what he is thinking most of the time. I hardly know him."

"Oh, come on," Caroline said. "You must have some idea of why did he reject you."

"No, I don't," Elena said. "He does live in Mystic Falls but I have hardly kept track in his stuffs. I may have been in lust with him. But 'being in lust' doesn't translate into knowing his deep dark secrets, you know? I mean, I don't even know whether he has a girlfriend."

"Seriously? What about Klaus? Do you know anything about him?"

Elena glanced sideways at Caroline, but she just shrugged.

"Not really," Elena said. "Not about any of them. Klaus and Alaric were friends with Damon, not me. I have seen them every now and then this summer after the football matches. And if I did talk, it wasn't exactly a conversation full of deep emotional resonance. I mean, we talked about school or movies or the games, you know?"

"Yeah, but somewhere along the way he got a little hot for you. Which means this has to have been bubbling along since the start of summer, right?"

All things considered, Elena had to agree that Caroline was probably right. Somewhere along the way, Damon had become as hot for her as she was for him. "Maybe," Elena told her.

Caroline sighed. "It is so romantic," she said, with an affected lilt to her voice. "You were like completely blacked out ships passing in the night."

Elena rolled her eyes. "I know some stuff. I know he likes his steaks medium rare because that is how he made them when we grilled out. And I know he likes Camaro because he is driving one at the moment. And some Finnish heavy metal band because he and Klaus were psyched to get tickets. But I don't have a clue what toothpaste he uses, what his favourite class was in college, what his first pet was named, or if he committed a felony last week."

"A felony?"

Elena waved the word away as if it meant nothing. She had yet to tell Caroline about Matt's allegations. She was not sure why she was so reticent, but she thought it was because she believed Damon was a good man with a golden heart.

The truth was Damon could very well have dark secrets that were completely hidden from her. After all, when you got right down to it, except for bits of trivia picked up in Tyler's living room and backyard, she didn't know a whole lot more about him.

"Does it really matter?" Caroline said when Elena told her as much. "It is not like you are the kind of girl who wants a safe bet, anyway. What?" she asked innocently when Elena crossed her arms and raised her brow. "I'm just saying that you like a little excitement in your life. Nothing wrong with that."

"Yeah, nothing wrong with that."

"You need to totally do him," Caroline said.

"Excuse me?" Elena wrinkled her nose, then realized she was still talking about Damon. "I think he put the brakes on that plan."

"Just once or you will regret it. He may not be the guy for you but doesn't mean you can't sleep with him. After all, it is not like you're marrying him."

Elena took a sip of her beer. "You have a very convoluted way of thinking," she told Caroline. "I like it."

Caroline laughed. "Years of dedicated practice. And I know you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged. "Just that you get off on the thrill. He has put on the brakes? Big deal. That just makes him more of a challenge. And a lot more interesting challenge than getting an A in exams."

Elena leaned back in her seat. "I think I'm a completely wreck when Damon is around."

She thought of Damon. Of the peace she had felt in his arms. Of the way she had slept through the night with him next to her.

She so desperately wanted to be soothed like that again. She was centred right now, but she was balancing on a fence, and it would only take the slightest push to send her tumbling over.

She wanted the man. Needed him, even. And that only made the pain of his rejection that much keener.

Beside Elena, Caroline was oblivious to her mental meanderings. Even so, she'd reached pretty much the same conclusion. "The point is that you would get off on the thrill of having a guy like Damon Salvatore in your bed."

"I would," Elena admitted, because she could hardly deny it. But that didn't mean she was going to chase him.

She leaned toward Caroline, sliding into gossip mode, both to distract her and because she wanted her reaction. "Matt says Damon has dark secrets. So do Klaus and Alaric."

Caroline shifted in her seat, obviously intrigued. "Really? Do you think it's true? I bet it is. They all have that bad boy look about them." The corner of her mouth curved up. "Especially Klaus."

"You are so not subtle, you know."

"What? He's hot."

"Can't argue with that. Hell, they all are."

"But are they criminal masterminds?" Her voice was laced with intrigue.

"Maybe. I don't know." Elena shrugged. "Probably not."

"Oh, I bet they are," she said. "Most of the time, the cops get it right. They just don't always get the bad guys. Of course, that depends on how you define 'bad guy.'" She leaned back in her seat, looking almost smug.

Elena frowned, the idea that Damon might end up behind bars was undeniably disturbing. But at the same time, the idea that he was cool enough and smart enough to avoid that net…well, she couldn't deny that just thinking about it got her blood pumping. Like playing chicken on the train tracks or surfing on the roof of a car.

Caroline laughed. "Oh, man, the look on your face. You are so busted."

Elena grimaced, but she didn't deny.

"At any rate," Caroline continued, "all of this is beside the point."

"I have completely forgotten what the point is."

"The point is that you have to go for it. You will be going to Whitmore once you finish high school here and you won't see him for a long, long time. That's why you need to go for it."

"Go for it, as in what?" Elena asked, even though she knew damn well what Caroline meant—and was only a hairsbreadth away from agreeing.

"Take a chance, Elena. There are a few more weeks before summer ends, right? So work your magic and get Damon in your bed. If you don't do it once, you are going to regret it forever."

Caroline was right. Not only would she regret it, but she wasn't sure that she could get through the next few weeks. But that wasn't the only reason that Caroline's proposal enticed me. The truth was she simply wanted the man. Wanted him, and was certain that he wanted her, too.

Elena remembered the way she had felt when he had stood close to me in the alley that night, the way the air had vibrated between them. The scent of him. The presence of him.

And then she remembered the way he had shut her down. The way he had shut them both down.

Elena shook her head. "I don't know…"

"What's not to know? It's not like you are going to get arrested—though you may end up grounded."

"Oh, like that is an enticement?"

Caroline ignored her half-assed protest. "And since he has already said no once, if he says it again, you are in the exact same place. And if he says yes, you are golden, right? I mean, honestly, Elena, what have you got to lose?"

She remembered the feel of his hands upon me in the alley, the way her body had fired and opened to him.

She remembered the smell of cocoa when he handed her the mug, and how the soft glow in his eyes had warmed her even more than the liquid. She remembered the way she had come awake the next morning, clear and crisp and alive.

What did she have to lose?

That was easy—nothing.

Nothing, except her heart.

x x x

It turned out that the whole "go after Damon Salvatore" plan was a little more complicated than Elena had anticipated, primarily because she had no idea how to get in touch with him other than through his office. She had done that, leaving a message with his assistant through the automated voicemail system. Since she didn't immediately get a call back—and she fully expected him to ignore the message, she was about to ditch the whole thing and give Bonnie or Caroline a call, when she realized there was one more place she could check. She reached for the phone directory and searched for Destiny.

"Destiny," a woman's voice crooned. "Where your fantasy is our pleasure."

"Um, yeah. Hi."

"How can I help you?" She sounded perfectly polished while Elena sounded like an idiot.

"I'm looking for Damon Salvatore. Could you tell me if he is there right now?"

"I'm sorry, we don't expect Mr Salvatore for another hour. Can I have him return the call?"

"Oh. Um, no. Thanks, but I will just call back."

Elena hung up the phone feeling a bit like she had just done espionage. She did, however, now have a plan.

She glanced down at herself, and realized she was wearing yoga pants and a plain dark blue T-shirt. Not exactly appropriate attire for a club.

Elena decided that it was time to have a little fun with her wardrobe.

She ended up dressing in a grey lace tank top paired with a striped skirt that hit mid-thigh, sexy and flirty and—if she did say so her self—totally hot.

She finished the outfit with a beige cardigan, leather boots and a leather satchel to tie the whole thing together. She had spent more time than she liked to admit debating about what to do with her hair and ended up wearing it straight in what she hoped was a provocative manner.

Finally, she had kept her makeup simple, highlighting her lips in pink and her eyes in a smoky grey.

An hour later, Elena stood in front of the full-length mirror and assessed the result of her efforts. She needed to be prepared. Confident. Sexy.

She wanted Damon to look at her and get hard. She wanted him to look at her and regret walking away.

Most of all, she wanted him to look at her like he didn't even see the clothes she was wearing, and then she wanted this outfit that she had so carefully selected to be wrinkled on the floor, tossed negligently there as Damon pulled her down into his bed.

She drew in a breath, struck a pose, and decided that if this outfit didn't do the trick, nothing would.

She considered having Maria ring for her father's driver but decided that she needed to be more confident. A driver would wait for her, after all, but she didn't want to have any way home other than in Damon's car.

And she couldn't let her father know she was going to the Destiny.

In the end Elena took a taxi. She stayed lost in her thoughts for most of the trip. She was not sure what she was expecting. How would Damon react when he saw her?

It was only past three on Saturday but the parking slots surrounding Destiny were full.

The sign was low-key and classy. A black monolith with the name—Destiny—written boldly in red so that it stood out against the black. Though the sign looked like stone, Elena could see immediately that it was not, because the lower portion was an LED screen flashing the various specials throughout the week.

On the whole, the place looked low-key and fit in just fine with the area, which boasted a few office complexes, a delivery company, a fire station, and a convenience store.

Why would everyone think this place was dangerous? Elena wondered. In fact, she liked it. She liked it very much.

The driver pulled up in front of the door, and then turned in his seat to face her. "This the place?"

"Hell, yes," she said.

Elena paid him, slid out of the car, and marched herself to the front door. She didn't pause, because that would be like showing weakness. Instead she just reached out for the brass handle and tugged the door open. And then, despite the fact that it was bright and sunny outside, she stepped into the dim, casino-like interior with the same awe as one might experience crossing over into a whole new dimension.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the change in lighting. All she could see was the dark entry area and the bright lights filtering in through frosted glass doors, along with the twisting cords of coloured neon that curved upon the black walls, subtly hinting at the lushness of the female form. To her right, there was a polished reception desk that looked almost like what you might see at a classy hotel. A woman with glistening blond hair stood behind it wearing a tight T-shirt that emphasized her braless breasts as well as the word plastered across her chest: Destiny.

Two video cameras were displayed prominently in the area, their red lights glowing steadily as if to underscore the message printed neatly on a sign that hung on the door that led from this reception area to the main part of the club: For the safety of our employees, these premises are under 24-hour video surveillance.

Muffled music filtered in from the main area, but for the most part, this little room served as a transition between the mundane world outside and the promise of what lay beyond those frosted doors.

"Ten dollar cover," the blonde said. "Unless you would like to enter the wet T-shirt contest." She glanced at the clock. "It will be in the champagne room in just under an hour."

Elena glanced down at her clothes. "What's the champagne room?"

"It is totally awesome. There is an additional cover, but you get all the champagne you want while you are in there. And, of course, for the wet T-shirt contest, we can't just spray the girls with water. Where is the fun in that?" She laughed, obviously delighted with the idea. Elena grinned, too, sucked in by her infectious attitude.

"I think I will pass," Elena said, even though it was a little tempting. "The truth is I'm looking for someone."

"Oh."

The room seemed suddenly chilly and Elena hurried to explain. "No, no. I'm not an angry girlfriend trying to track down my guy. Nothing like that. I'm looking for Damon Salvatore."

She leaned down and pulled a sheath of papers from somewhere behind the counter. "Job application?"

Elena laughed. "No."

"Oh." Her brows lifted and she did a quick up-and-down scan, her eyes covering Elena from head to toe, and Elena could see the curiosity in her eyes. "Is he expecting you?" Her corporate-polite voice now held a hint of ice.

"No," Elena said. "I just thought I would drop by." She almost blurted out that she was a friend, but at the last second she clamped her mouth shut. Hadn't she come here with the intent of becoming exactly what she imagined her to be?

Elena cleared her throat. "So, um, is he around?"

Her plastic smile was so tight Elena thought her cheeks might crack. "He is not on the premises at the moment, but—"

The frosted glass door burst open, cutting off her words, and Klaus strode through, all power and poise, fire and energy. "You want to tell me what the hell you are doing here?"

Elena bristled. "Excuse me?"

He glanced sideways toward the blonde. "Take a break."

She nodded, eyes wide, and slipped out through a door that was camouflaged in the velvety blackness of the wall behind her.

"This isn't the place for you," Klaus said, all of his attention on her.

"No?" Elena crossed her arms over her chest and mentally dug in her heels. "Because I'm feeling right at home."

He moved closer to her, emotions storming across his face. "Dammit, Elena."

She forced herself not to cower as he approached. Instead, she held her ground, telling herself that she knew this man well. That even though he had grown up around gangs—that even though he could snap her in two without breaking a sweat—that he absolutely did not intimidate her. On the contrary, she knew that Klaus would always watch out for her.

"I mean it," Elena said. "I'm not leaving until I get some answers."

"Answers?" He cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he examined her. "And what exactly is the question?"

"Damon," she said simply.

"What about him?"

Elena sighed in exasperation. "I want to know how to find him for one thing. And since I don't have another address, this was my best option."

"And why exactly do you want to find him?"

She almost told him it was none of his damn business, but she was tired of being contentious. "Come on, Klaus," she said wearily. "He owes me something. And I don't think that Damon is the kind of guy who squelches on his debts."

"Something?" Klaus said, and she was grateful for the dim light that kept her blush from showing.

After a moment, Elena nodded and his grin grew wide. she had the feeling he knew exactly what kind of debt Damon owed her. "Well, look at little Dragon bait. You win. Come on in." He cocked his head toward the frosted glass doors.

She exhaled in relief and followed. There were individually lit raised dance floors scattered around the room. Each featured a pole, and each pole featured a girl. There was a bar around the edge of the platform, and men lined the barstools, some standing long enough to tuck a bill into the sequined nothingness that the dancers wore. And nothingness was pretty much it. Though some wore bikinis and some wore G-strings, some were entirely naked but for a garter belt around a thigh, the purpose of which was clearly to serve as a tip collection device.

For those guests who didn't want such an up close and personal view, there were round tables surrounded by four comfy chairs scattered throughout the room. A long bar with three scantily clad waitresses took up the far side of the room, and Elena saw the doors to private rooms as well. One must be the champagne room, and she couldn't help but wonder what the theme was for the others.

She had only been to the Destiny twice and she was always outside at the bar or at the dance floor. Frankly speaking, she hadn't paid attention to the private rooms.

The main area was primarily illuminated by the glow of the dancers' spotlights, which meant that the corners were much dimmer. Elena was pretty sure that if she had stood there peering into the dark, she would have seen one of those lap dances that she was so curious about.

Honestly, she was tempted to do just that.

On the whole, it was a nice place. And the girls were pretty. Not too skinny or used up. They had curves and moves and they looked like they were genuinely enjoying their work. As she followed Klaus to the far side of the main room, she didn't see any touching that they didn't somehow consent to. She did see one guy get a little rowdy, but a bouncer who looked like he used to play professional football descended on him like a tick and politely but firmly showed him the door.

Finally, Klaus stopped at one of the tables, signalled to a waitress, then pulled out a chair for her. "So what do you think?"

"I have been here twice," Elena said honestly. "It is a nice place."

"You thought we would lean more toward skanky?"

"No, I—" She cut herself off when she saw his shit-eating grin. "Dammit, Klaus. Don't tease me. I'm not exactly in my element here."

He chuckled. "You sure the hell aren't, princess."

Elena sat, still taking it all in—and thinking about her words, and the lie hidden within them. Because even though she had only been to the place twice, the truth was she found the whole environment rather intoxicating, she actually liked it. She looked at the girls doing their moves around the pole, and she could imagine herself up there. All eyes on her. Her leg hooked around that hard length of steel, and all the while that she was shimmying against the pole, it was Damon that she imagined she was touching.

She swallowed, looking down at the table top until she was certain that her face revealed nothing. She looked up just as the waitress arrived. She wore a top made of gauzy scarves crisscrossed over her breasts. An equally transparent scarf was tied around her waist in what resembled a bathing suit cover with no bathing suit beneath it. She slid a drink in front of Klaus and a glass of red wine in front of me. "Shiraz," she said. "I hope that is okay?"

"Perfect. How did you—"

"Bree knows everything," Klaus said.

Bree smiled. "I even know that the liquor delivery is here. Since you are here…"

"Yeah, yeah. Have Frankie check the invoice. Tell him I will be there in a minute."

She nodded and hurried toward the far side of the room.

Elena leaned back in her chair. "So what is the deal? You three work out of your downtown office during the week and come here for a little R&R on the weekends?"

"Fuck that," he said. "Damon is the one with the hard-on for a high rise. Alaric and me? We go in when we have to, but we work mostly out of the back."

She cocked her head. "So this isn't Damon's kind of place?"

Klaus' eyes narrowed, but she just smiled innocently. "I didn't say that, princess. But our Damon is a man of many vices—and many virtues. I guess that makes him multifaceted."

"I guess it does."

Klaus swallowed the rest of his drink, and then thrust his legs out as he leaned back in his chair. "You are going to tell me why you are here? What exactly does Damon owe you?"

"Klaus, I like you but you are completely silly if you think I'm telling you my personal business."

He laughed. "You have a lot more credits than most girls."

"I mean it. All I want to do is see Damon. When is he going to get here?"

"I just want to help, princess."

"You can't help, Klaus. I need to talk to Damon."

"He told me what happened."

"He told you?" Elena asked, because she couldn't imagine that Damon would have told his friend what went down in the alley.

He shrugged casually. "The alley. Yeah, he did."

Elena was not sure what he saw on her face, but it made him laugh. "You are certainly expanding your horizons, dragon bait."

She had never until that moment fully understood what it meant to get your feathers ruffled. But hers were very ruffle indeed. "Fine," she said snippily. "You win. I am expanding my horizons, and I want Damon to expand them even further. I want him to finish what he started. And I came here to convince him that he should."

Elena finished her speech, tossed back the rest of her wine, and glared at him, daring him to say anything that might set her off again.

If Klaus was shocked by her words, he didn't show it. He just leaned back in his seat and studied her. It was an interesting tableau. His eyes were on her, his face carved in question. Half-naked women serving drinks behind him. Even more naked women dancing on platforms all around them.

About the time that Elena was certain he wasn't going to respond at all, he spoke. "It is a losing battle, sweetheart. Damon won't do it."

"I don't know it."

For the first time, his expression turned brotherly. "You would end up getting hurt, Elena. And that's the last thing any of us want. Shit." He ran his hand over his hair. "Honestly, it is a damn good thing that Damon is the one with the hard-on for you," he said, as her body started to melt simply from the spoken acknowledgment that not only was Damon attracted to her, but he had told his friends as much.

"Not that you are not adorable," Klaus continued with a grin. "But you are not my type."

"What do you mean it is a good thing?" Elena asked warily.

"You are sweet, Elena, and Damon doesn't do sweet. And if he thinks that something he is doing will hurt someone he cares about, then he simply doesn't do it. And that's that. Trust me, Elena. Whatever debt you think he owes you from that alley, it is going to remain unpaid."

"Sweet," she repeated. "He thinks I'm sweet?"

"Aren't you?" Klaus asked, and she could hear the laughter in his voice.

Instead of answering, Elena signalled for Bree, calling for her to bring her a bottle of beer. She arrived with a cold beer, and Elena tossed it back while Klaus watched.

"Trying to prove something?" he asked.

"Not a damn thing. I just prefer beer over wine. What?" Elena asked innocently. "You didn't know that?" She pressed her finger to my chin. "Hmm. Maybe you three don't know me as well as you think."

"Elena…" There was censure in his voice, but she cut him off.

"No. I told you once I wasn't dragon bait, and I meant it. You haven't got a clue what will and will not hurt me, so don't sit there acting all smug and treat me like a princess needing to be rescued. Because that's bullshit." She glared at him. "And don't make assumptions about what I want or need."

Sweet.

The word grated on her, which was ironic because it wasn't sweet that she wanted Damon to see.

Klaus reached over the table and put his hand atop hers. "I'm going to go take care of that liquor delivery, and then I'm going to drive you home. We can talk on the way."

"I'm not going anywhere. I'm waiting here for Damon, and I don't particularly feel like talking."

"Fine. I'm still going to go take care of that delivery. And you may want to wait here, but last I checked, I owned the place and you didn't. So I will be driving you home and you can just bitch about it."

"Klaus…"

"Don't Klaus me. As for the scintillating conversation, we can talk about music. We can talk about movies. But I'm making sure you get home safe, so you wait for me here, okay?"

Elena nodded, too defeated to argue. Damon hadn't yet arrived, and she could hardly dig her heels in if Klaus was determined to get her out of there.

In other words, she was screwed. And at the moment, she had no plan B.

He headed toward the back where a guy, presumably Frankie, was holding up a clipboard and some paper.

Elena sat and stewed and looked around. Some of the nearby men turned to look at her, but no one approached, and she assumed that was because she had been sitting with Klaus That was fine; she had no interest in these men. No real interest in what was going on in this room. There was lust, true. Lust and heat and attraction. Not sparks, though. Not electricity. This room was about sex and titillation, and while she didn't have a problem with that, it wasn't what she wanted.

What she wanted was Damon. The power. The explosion.

She wanted to experience what she had felt in his arms, and she wanted him to make her feel alive.

And damn it all, it was pissing her off that she wasn't able to get what she wanted.

And then—like a dream—there he was. Damon.

Elena actually blinked twice, in fact, afraid that she was only imagining him. Because how on earth could her fervent wishes have conjured him?

But it was true. He was real and solid and despite the dim light, she could see the hard angles of his face and the dark fire of his eyes. He was staring right at her—and he didn't look happy.

Well, damn.

She started to stand—then sat down again when he turned away and moved toward one of the darkened corners, crooking his finger at a petite redhead who followed him with the kind of sexual confidence she was trying desperately to conjure.

Elena knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help herself. She stood up and moved across the room, then settled down at a table closer to that corner.

She was looking at him from an angle, unable to see the expression on his face, but not really needing to. Elena could see the redhead just fine. The sultry expression as the redhead slowly moved to straddle him. The way she bit her lip when he put his hands on her hips. She dipped down, teasing his crotch, brushing against him with the tiny bit of material that covered her sex. Then she rose and leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, her face rapturous.

Elena watched, and she seethed.

At the same time, though, she was strangely fascinated. She wanted to be that woman. She wanted to writhe upon him, to turn him on, to feel him grow hard beneath her. She wanted to be the one making him crazy. She, and no one else.

Certainly not that little twit of a redhead.

She stood, not certain what she intended to do, but knowing damn well that she had nothing to lose. she tugged a fifty dollar bill from her wallet, then marched toward them. Damon didn't even look up when the girl turned to look at her.

Elena handed her the bill. "Go."

She glanced at Damon, who nodded just once.

The girl scurried away, and Elena revelled in her tiny victory.

She circled the chair until she was standing right in front of him. "You shouldn't be here," he said, but she only leaned forward and pressed a finger to his lips.

"Don't," she said.

"Don't what?"

But she just shook her head, said a silent thank-you that her striped skirt had enough material to hide a multitude of sins, and settled herself on his lap. Or, more accurately, over his lap, because while her knees were pressed into the soft leather of the overstuffed armchair, there was no actual contact going on except for the slight brushing of her knees against the outside of his thighs.

It didn't matter. Elena was already wet, her sex hot, her panties clinging to her. The bit of cool air that sneaked in under the loose folds of material did little to quell the fire inside her.

She leaned forward, using her hand on the back of the chair over his shoulder to balance herself. Her eyes were locked on his, and he was looking straight at her, too.

"Don't what?" he repeated. His voice was low, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Don't put on a show trying to make me think you don't want me."

He didn't flinch; he didn't move. "Maybe I don't."

Elena leaned closer. Slowly. Seductively. "Bullshit."

His face stayed exactly the same. And yet she could see the smile growing inside of him.

And as her own smile bloomed, she lowered herself until there was nothing separating them but the satin of her panties and the cotton of his slacks. She held on to the chair, moving her hips forward and back, letting the friction drive her a little crazy. "Did you think I would run?" she asked, keeping her voice low. "Did you think I would be shocked watching that woman do these things to you?" She leaned forward and ran her tongue over the curve of his ear. "I wasn't. I didn't even see her. Do you know why?"

"Why?" he asked, the single syllable more of a growl than a word.

"Because as far as I was concerned there was no other woman. It was me on your lap," she said as she rocked her hips. "Me touching you. Me making you hard."

She slid her hand down between their bodies and pressed her hand over his erection.

And as Elena watched the heat flare in his eyes, she revelled in a sense of smug satisfaction. Because she knew that, no matter what, she had won this round.

"This isn't happening, Elena," he said, blowing away her sense of victory like so much dandelion fluff.

"You are wrong," she said.

"I'm very rarely wrong."

"You are smug, too. I like that in a man." Elena shifted forward so that her lips brushed his ear as she spoke. "I just want to have fun," she said, and felt her lips curve into a smile as his cock stiffened in response to her raw—but very honest—words. "I'm not asking for a wedding ring. I'm not asking for forever. I'm not asking for any commitment at all. I only want this," she said as she stroked him. "I only want to finish what we started."

"It is not a good idea," he said, and she heard the tight note of control in his voice.

"I think it is one of the best ideas I have ever had," she murmured. "Well, you know what, Damon? You made a promise to me, too. Maybe not in words, but…"she trailed off, letting her body language finish that sentence as she shifted on his lap, feeling wild. Feeling reckless. He was right—they shouldn't. And yet how could she stop when this was what she had wanted for so damn long? When she needed it so desperately?

Elena brushed her lips over his. She felt powerful, certain victory was near, and she didn't intend to relinquish an inch.

She pulled back, her eyes locked on his. "I want what you promised me."

"Dammit, Elena…"

"You said it was a mistake?" She pressed, determined to cut off all protests. "I don't care. Everyone makes mistakes. I just want to have fun."

"I don't like mistake. I like to win." His rough voice sent shivers over her.

"Then I'm your prize. No," she said, pressing her finger to his lips before he could say another word. "I want to go wild with you, Damon. One time. Can't we both take the risk one time?"

"It is reckless," he said, as his hand slid up her back to cup her neck.

"Maybe."

"You will regret it," he murmured as his other hand stroked her exposed thigh.

Her breath was ragged. "I won't."

"It won't be gentle. If I let go, I'm not going to hold back."

"I'm not asking you to." Triumph swelled through Elena as she swallowed. Her breasts were painfully tight and her sex throbbed, demanding everything he was promising. "Don't you get it? I want it all. I want to feel alive."

"Alive?" he said as that hand moved higher and higher, each millimetre setting off a flurry of sparks that ricocheted through her. There was no hesitation left in his voice, just passion and a power so vibrant that she knew without a doubt that any control she had thought she had was now buried under the strength of this man.

"What do you want me to do to make you feel alive?" His finger eased up to trace the edge of her panties. "Like this?" he asked as he slipped his finger under the elastic and stroked her baby soft skin.

Elena couldn't help the little moan that escaped her lips as she lost herself in the pleasure of his touch.

"Oh, baby," he murmured, as he stroked her, his fingers teasing and exploring. "But you haven't answered me. You want to feel alive"—he thrust a finger deep inside her, and Elena bit back a cry as her body tightened around him, silently begging for more— "you need to tell me what you want me to do."

But she couldn't tell him anything. She could only feel, could only exist in that moment. That power she had felt only moments before had completely faded. She was as weak as a kitten and completely at his mercy.

She shifted, lifting herself up a bit to give him better access and, yes, to silently beg for more.

Damon flashed a self-satisfied smile, then added another finger. He was deep inside her, the soft pad at the base of his thumb teasing her clit as his fingers filled her. She was desperately wet, her hips moving in rhythm with his thrusts. She was need and desire personified. He had reduced her completely.

"I'm going to take you to the heavens, Elena. And I'm going to be your tether to this earth when you explode."

Elena whimpered, then shifted on his lap. Somewhere in her mind reason shouted that she needed to get free before she came right there, but at the same time she didn't want this to ever end.

He leaned forward and captured her mouth in a kiss, his hand on her neck holding her in place while he deepened it, his tongue mimicking the movement of his fingers inside her. She was lost, floating, shimmering with sensation. And when he pulled away, she moaned in protest of the loss.

Reality returned to her for the briefest of moments, and she glanced around, realizing just how public they were. The corner was dark and they were alone, but there were waitresses walking by and dancers on the platforms and somewhere, although she didn't see him, there was Klaus.

"Damon," she began, but his soft "No" cut her off.

"You started this," he said with a grin that held both mischief and mastery. "Stay still and no one will know." He was stroking her as he spoke, his fingers sliding from her cunt to her tight and sensitive clit. Elena squeezed her eyes shut, so aroused it was almost painful. She felt on fire, every inch of her sizzling. But then it shifted as all that feeling, all that electricity, all that pleasure, gathered like a storm.

Damon had taken charge of her body, of her senses. There was no pleasure without his touch, no passion without his caress. It was all culminating in that one point, every bit of sensation inside her, building up, ready to rocket through her.

Ready to explode.

She almost cried out when the orgasm shot through her, but she managed to bite it back. He held her as she burst into a wash of stars, until she finally collapsed against him, her body shuddering from the force of the pleasure he had brought to her.

Her breath came in gasps and although she wanted to see his face, she didn't want to move. Her head was on his chest, his hand upon her back. He had completely destroyed her.

For one brief, shining moment, she had held the upper hand. But he had deftly turned the tables, and she had never been so happy to have been so soundly and thoroughly defeated.

"I told you," he said, leaning in close and whispering in hrt ear, "I like control. You want to feel alive tonight, Elena? Those are the terms."

Elena lifted her head to meet his eyes and saw her own passion reflected back at her. "Tonight?" she teased. "You want more?"

She had caught him off guard, and he laughed, the sound rich and genuine. "Baby, we haven't even gotten started."

"I—oh."

"Let's get the hell out of here."


	9. Chapter 9

_MYSTIC FALLS 2017_

Elena was exhausted. Not physically but mentally exhausted.

She walked into her bedroom and fell onto her bed. She didn't even bother to change.

She had no idea what she wanted right now.

No, that was not true. She had known since the moment she met him again.

She wanted Damon

She wanted him here beside her. She wanted him to hold and soothe her. But she couldn't have what she wanted, not only because of this ridiculous game that they were locked in, but because there was no future there.

Either way, she couldn't have Damon.

And that was why she was here on her bed by herself, her blanket wrapped tight around her, and her eyes closed in the hope that sleep might find her.

 _Elena._

She smiled, letting the sound of her name on his lips slid into her dreams. Elena felt the press of a hand on her shoulder, gentle but firm and she took a long, deep breath. These were the warm and soothing touch of that knight she so often imagined. She shifted, pulling the blanket up under her chin, wanting to go deeper into this place of safety that she felt so comfortable in sleep.

 _Elena. Baby, wake up._

She stirred, confused, and then opened her eyes to find Damon's blue eyes looking back at her, full of concern.

"There you are," he said gently.

"I—" Since Elena had no idea what she intended to say, she stopped talking. But she forced herself to sit up and peer at him and convinced herself that he was not a figment of her imagination. "You are here."

A tiny smile played across his lips. "Yes, I'm here now."

"Why?"

"To see you." He brushed his thumb over her cheek. "I need to see you."

Elena actually smiled, which felt pretty good. Then she pushed herself up, so that she was sitting instead of lying. "How did you get in?"

"Maria let me in."

"How did you get Maria to let you in?"

"I have my way." He had been kneeling beside her, but now he stood up. "You are better now?" he asked, and when she nodded, he stepped away from her bed.

Elena fought a sharp pang of panic as she turned to look at him, then sagged with relief when she saw that he wasn't leaving but getting something from the side table.

"I asked Maria to get you some coffee."

He handed a coffee mug to her, and then used his free hand to pull over a chair in the room.

He sat and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He looked completely casual and totally in control, and every ounce of his attention was focused on her.

"We are done, Elena," he said, and Elena jolted bolt upright.

"What? No! Dammit, Damon, you can't just quit. You can't—" She was starting to rise, but he took her arm and tugged her back down.

"Not the resort," he said calmly. "I will design a magnificent resort for you. But this," he said, gesturing between the two of them.

Elena shook her head, not understanding. Because surely after everything, Damon wasn't tossing away all of his demands and ultimatums.

Was he?

He stood and walked to the window. He stopped there, so that he was silhouetted against the now-grey sky. "I said this was about revenge, and it is. It was. I wanted to punish you for leaving me. For leaving me for him—for Matt, I thought—and god, how I wanted to punish you."

"But I didn't. Not like that. I told you."

"And I believe you. But that wasn't all of it. Because I still wanted to make you pay for hurting me. Hell, for hurting both of us," he said, and Elena couldn't help but winced, because what Damon said was true.

"But it wasn't all about punishment." He turned to look at her before taking a few steps towards her. "Do you need to hear it plainly? I will say it. I want you, Elena. As intensely as I wanted you ten years ago. And the moment I saw you in the theatre, I knew that I was willing to make any deal I had to in order to get you close."

His words were punctuated by each step he took towards her. "Did I want your submission? Did I want you naked and willing beneath me? Hell, yes. I still do. But that's not the whole of it. I want to make you feel. To make you laugh. I want to see that fire that burns in you. I want you to look at me the way you did ten years ago. And, Elena? I want you to stay with me."

Her chest was tight, and she was having a hard time breathing.

"But I want none of that if the cost is hurting you."

He reached down and cupped her chin in his hand, his expression so tender it made her heart squeezed. "So there will be no deal. No game. No conditions put on my agreement to work on the resort. I will still do my best to seduce you," he added with a tender smile. "But I can't be the one who brings you more pain."

Elena opened her mouth to speak, but she could not. She could only shake her head, wanting to deny what he had so obviously seen.

Damon took her hand, and although it was only their fingers that were touching, she still felt the thrill running through her. "Because I can't stand the idea of you hating me forever."

She looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

"I don't believe you have stopped caring. I don't know why you had decided to end things between us. You felt the pain as much as I did. And if I added to the weight of it, I am so damn sorry."

Elena looked at him now, her throat thick and her eyes burning. "You didn't," she said. "Not really. Oh, god." She drew in a breath and raised her hand to her mouth, then bit down on the soft flesh at the base of her thumb. "I didn't want to hurt you, Damon." she said, feeling almost like she was drowning in her own emotions.

"It is okay," he said, moving to sit beside her and gathering her in his arms. "I hurt you too."

Elena managed a half-laugh, then pressed close. "We are even then."

He pushed a lock of hair off her forehead, then slowly trailed his fingers down her shoulder to her back. "Can you tell me who?"

She blinked. "Who?"

"Was it your father?" He continued to stroke her hair. "He pulled out of the campaign not long after you ended our relationship."

She pulled free of his arms. "Please," she said, and she could hear the strain in her voice. "Can we just drop it? At least for now?"

His jaw tensed. "You can't or don't want to?"

"Damon, please," she said shakily.

After a brief silence, he nodded. "Fine." Then he knelt beside her and cupped her face. "You need rest. Come on. Lie down. Nobody should be up this early."

"No, I need to get to work." She sat up on the side of the rumpled bed. "I want to take a quick shower and change my clothes before I go back to work."

"You should sleep," he said.

She went to the closet to take down some clothes. "I have a busy schedule this morning."

"You need to rest." Damon moved towards her. "You need to sleep."

She had to fight the instinct to step back when he came to a halt directly in front her. But she couldn't because the closet was behind her. "I did manage to sleep last night. I'm not tired…"

Before Elena could finish her sentence, Damon took her hand and tugged her towards him.

"Damon…"

His mouth closed over her, his lips soft, yet demanding. But right now, no demand was required, and she surrendered eagerly, opening her mouth to him, welcoming him. Letting him fill her, taste her, consume her.

Desire flooded her veins.

She managed to tear her mouth free for an instant.

"Damon, this is so crazy."

"Tell me about it. No, on second thought, don't say a damn word." He covered her mouth again and tightened his hold on her.

She gave a small, half-choked exclamation, put her arms around his neck, and flung herself headfirst into the kiss.

Damon made a hoarse, half-strangled, extremely urgent sound and fell back onto the bed. He pulled her down on top of him. She sprawled across his chest and thighs. He caught her legs between his own.

She was shocked by the fierceness of his erection. She could feel the shape and size of him beneath the fabric of his trousers.

His fingers were at the nape of her neck. He found the zipper of her dress and dragged it the length of her spine all the way to where it ended at the small of her back. He slid his hand inside the opening. His palm was warm and heavy on her bare skin.

"You have a great back," he muttered. "A really terrific back."

"Damon," she whispered shakily. "Damon, please…"

"Please what?" he murmured against her throat. "Tell me what you want, princess."

 _I want you to love me_ , she thought.

She knew there was no future for the two of them. But right now she wanted him.

"Kiss me." She went to work on his shirt.

It took her a while to bare his chest, but once she had accomplished the task she could see that it had been well worth the effort.

"Nice." She splayed her fingers across his flat belly and bent her head to kiss his shoulder. He felt warm and powerful and utterly male beneath her hands. "Very, very nice."

"My turn."

He rolled her over onto her back and peeled down the black corset lace dress. The front clasp of her black lace bra came apart in his hands. He looked down at her breasts with an expression of stark wonder. Then he cupped her in his fingers and took a nipple very gently between his teeth.

A luscious, liquid heat pooled in her lower body. A deep, tight urgency assailed her. Elena closed her eyes as the exquisite sensations sizzled through her. Damon was the only one man who could make her feel like this, she thought.

She put a hand over her mouth to muffle a tiny shriek.

Damon paused. "Are you okay?"

"Yes." She could barely get the single word out between her lips. She reached up and clutched at him. Sank her fingers into his shoulders. "Yes."

"Glad to hear it." His laugh was low and husky, more of a groan. He eased her dress off and hurled it out of the way. "You had me worried there for a minute. I thought I have lost my skills to make you crazy."

"You will always drive me crazy." She sounded breathless. She could not help it. She was breathless. "It has been so long. I'm a little tense, I guess. I mean…"

"Yeah." He slid his warm hand slowly down over her stomach. "I know. It has been too long. Too damn long."

Damon put his hand inside the waistband of her black lace panties. She shivered when she felt his gently probing finger. Excitement flared in its place. She knew she was already soaking wet.

"This," Damon said in reverent tones, "is the most amazing thing that has happened to me in a very long time. You are definitely worth waiting for, Elena."

Elena buried her face against his shoulder. He stroked her until she was so desperate that she began to nip gently at the muscle in his arm.

He rolled to the side for a moment. When he rolled back he had his pants off. Her mouth went dry as she watched him sheath himself in a condom.

"I want you, Elena," he said, then moved on top of her. He started low, his lips on her hip, then kissed his way up her body, stopping at her breast to lick and tug and tease so much that the sensation shot through her, all the way to her clit, and she had to stop him for fear that she would come right then.

His erection was hard between her legs. She spread her thighs, wanting him to find her centre, and when he did, she tossed her head back and gasped. In that moment, he captured her with a kiss, and then thrust inside her.

Her body captured him, drew him in, and as his tongue thrust inside her mouth, his erection pounded into her, harder and harder as if every moment of the last ten years was hidden in each thrust.

This wasn't revenge sex. This was not make-up sex.

It was need and demand and lust and passion. It was them. And it finally felt right.

His touch—their connection—sent Elena spiralling up faster than she wanted, and yet at the same time she had no desire to hold back. She wanted the explosion. She wanted him. She wanted everything that they had shared and would share.

She wanted the world, and with Damon she did not think that was too much to ask.

And with that thought, she shattered, exploding like a billion pieces of coloured glass as he slid against her, filling her, touching her core—and then, oh yes, finding his own release inside her.

Elena did scream then. Damon sealed her mouth with his, trapping her cries in his own throat.

She returned the favour when he surged against her one last time, every muscle rigid.

She did not know how long they laid there, naked on the bed. She hadn't slept. She looked over at Damon. Naked. Semi-erect. He looked deeply satiated. And in that moment she could think only that he was perfection came to life.

"You are staring, princess."

She blushed and looked away. "Sorry."

He grinned. "Under," he said, lifting the covers. "You are cold."

She shook her head. "Nope. You wanted me warm, I think it is only fair that you warm me up, not pawn the job off on some blanket."

He chuckled. "Do you? Well, I'm all about fairness." With his eyes never leaving hers, he straddled her, and then he kissed her long and hard and deep.

"I think I like warming you up," he said as he sat up, kneeling over her waist so that his erection rested enticingly on her belly.

"I want to touch you."

His brow lifts, as if in surprised at her boldness. "Well, I do like the idea of you touching me," he said, as he reached down to stroke her skin in a lazy pattern. "But right now, I just want to bury myself in you."

"Oh," she said as he sweetly—so deliciously sweetly—eased inside her. Elena gasped in welcome and surprise, and then moved with him. Their movements were slow and sensual, but there was nothing gentle about her reaction. She was rising up, buoyed by a web of dancing sparks and wild colours. Damon was taking her to the edge, bringing her to the pinnacle. And as her body clenched tight around him, drawing him in deeper, silently begging him to take her further, she once again found release in the arms of this man she had always wanted, and so desperately missed.

x x x

Elena woke with a jolt, her heart pounding in defence against the lingering clutch of fear.

She reached out, groping for Damon, and as she did, she realized that she was so afraid that Damon had left.

"Now there is a lovely picture," he said, and his voice sent unexpected waves of relief coursing through her.

He hadn't left. He was still here.

Thank god, thank god, thank god.

She realized that she had been lying stretched across the bed, her hip and thigh uncovered. She sat up, pulling the sheet over her breasts for modesty, which was ridiculous considering how thoroughly Damon explored every inch of her. She leaned against the headboard and sighed in pleasure as she watched him moved towards her, barefoot and shirtless in only his trousers, the top button open to reveal just a hint of the hair that arrowed down towards a very enticing bulge.

Elena was enjoying the view so much that a full second passes before she realized that he was holding out a cup of coffee. She took it gratefully, and then smile when she realized there was already cream in it. "You remembered."

"I remember a lot of things." He gestured for her to slide over, and then got in beside her when she did. "For one thing, I remember that we are supposed to be at Richard Lockwood's house in one hour, and it is a fifteen-minute drive with no traffic."

"I have completely forgotten about it!"

"That's why I'm here to remind you, princess," he said, and then brushed his hand over her hair.

She sighed and leaned against him, amazed at how quickly things had shifted between them. This felt like it did ten years ago. It felt like they fitted.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," he said.

"What's going on here?"

Damon raised his brows. "What do you mean?"

"Damon," she said nervously, "I hurt you and you hate me for that. But what happened between us just now…"

"What happened between us just now was mutual," he reminded her. "I can feel how badly you want me. And you can feel how much I want you."

"I want us both to be sure that we know what we are doing."

"Does that mean you don't know what you are doing? Or that you don't think I know what I'm doing?"

"I came to see you because I want your help. I never intend to get involved in a relationship."

Damon's jaw tightened. "Do you know why I came after you this morning? Because I care about you. I care about us."

She shook her head. "But I have hurt you."

"I should have stayed away," he said, moving away from her to stand up. He moved to the far wall and the window that now glowed with the light of morning. "The truth is I haven't forgotten about you all these years, Elena. I still care." He turned to face her. "I was pissed off all these years because you had gone back to him."

"Dammit, Damon. I was never with Matt since I broke up with him. If you don't believe me…"

"I do. You told me earlier, and I do. I believe you. But back then I thought otherwise."

Elena considered what he said as she slid out of the bed and walked naked to him. "Was that the reason you left Mystic Falls? You thought I was with Matt?"

"Partly, but there was more to it than that."

"I don't understand."

"You know what? It doesn't matter." He let his gaze drifted slowly over her, so that the heat from his inspection seemed to touch every part of her body, firing every molecule and making her forget just what the hell they were talking about, anyway. "I'm about to invite you into the shower with me. Which means that the last thing I want to be discussing is Matt Donovan."

"I feel that we both need to give ourselves a chance to evaluate the future direction of this relationship."

He stilled. "What the hell does that mean?"

"In simple terms?"

"Yeah, I do best with simple terms."

"I want some time to think about what is going on here. I believe that you should do some thinking about it, too."

"Do you what your problem is, Elena?"

"What?"

"Maybe your mistake was in looking too far ahead," he said softly. "Maybe we should both stop obsessing on the long term and focus more on the short term."

She swallowed. "How short a term are we talking about here?"

"Let's start with now." He pulled her into his arms. "We will reassess matters after our shower."

She stiffened. "I can't handle a casual, unemotional affair with you."

"There you go, trying to think too far ahead again."

"Goading me will not work," she said. "I do not respond to taunts or dares."

"Of course not. You are a Gilbert," he said as he led her to the bathroom.

He had turned on the shower before he made the coffee, and when they went into her bathroom, it was already warm and cosy and steamy, just the way Elena liked it.

Damon stripped off his trousers and she followed him in, then pressed close as his arms went around her, letting the sluice of water drenched her hair and ran over her face and body.

She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, and that was when she felt his lips brushed hers.

"Give whatever we have got going for us another chance, okay?" he said, and then captured her mouth with his as one of his hands slid down to stroke her sex.

Elena was wet and ready, and all she could manage was a simple word, "yes."

His hands closed over her breasts as he moved her back so that she was pressed against the tile. Then he lifted one of her legs so that her calf was over his hip, and she was opened to him. She did not want to wait. She reached for him, and then stroke her hand down the length of his erection, taking satisfaction in the way his expression went hard, as if he was on the edge of something spectacular. Because he was—and because she was the one who was taking him there.

"Now," Elena said, urging him closer, demanding he filled her, then crying out in surprise and pleasure when he found her core and thrust inside her.

"Faster, Damon. Harder." She was crazed with need of him, and when he held on to her ass so that he could thrust more deeply, she hooked her other leg around him, then gasped again and again as with each thrust she was slammed up against the warm tile wall.

Until finally, she felt his body tightened and he exploded inside her, and it was her name that Elena heard on his lips.

"Come on," she said when his eyes were no longer glassy. "We need to get going."

"Not just yet," he said, reaching for the handheld shower and turning it to a steady pulse. "I don't think you are quite ready yet."

"Damon…" She was too ready, too sensitive, and she was not at all sure that she could handle what he had in mind. When he pulled out of her and she settled one foot back on the shower mat, he kept hold of her other leg, then aimed the pulsating jet at her clit.

"Oh, god, oh, Christ, oh, Damon."

Elena clutched his shoulders, her body shaking with a growing pleasure that was almost too much to bear.

"If we are in a hurry, I can stop." His lips were right by her ear, and he highlighted the words by tracing his tongue along the edge of her ear, making her even more crazy. "Is that what you want?"

"Don't you dare," Elena said. "But, Damon, oh, please, I'm so damn close."

"Then let's see what I can do." He put the handheld back, then dropped to his knees. With one of her legs over his shoulder, he closed his mouth intimately on her, and it was that combination of his tongue, his lips, his touch that pulled her that final distance. Her body shattered as a million volts poured through her, ripping her apart so that she was nothing more than atoms spinning in space. Nothing more than heat and desire lost in the arms of this man.

"Wow," she said. "I don't even care if we are late."

"Convenient," he said. "Because neither do I. Still, Richard Lockwood is one of the investors. We should probably make an effort."

Elena nodded, and then reached for a towel once Damon had turned off the shower. Outside the glass enclosure, she dropped the towel in favour of her robe before wrapping the robe tight around her.

Damon was a few feet away, a towel wrapped around his hips as he ran his fingers through his hair. She couldn't help the way her gaze darted to his knuckles.

He saw and flashed a rueful grin. "I turned anger into fights."

"Damon…"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I promise you I'm not accosting random tourists on the street. I belong to a gym. There is a boxing club. And no, I'm not talking about the kind of gym that has a smoothie bar and twenty-eight elliptical machines. Heavy bags, speed bags, free weights."

She pictured the kind of dirty, grimy gym seen in so many movies, where guys were getting their faces smashed in. It was not a picture she liked. She grimaced. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"Oh, baby. They can't hurt me. Don't you know that you are the only one who's ever managed to tear me to shreds?"

She winced. "Sorry."

He glanced at her. "Would you have gone to bed with him?" he asked.

"Who?"

"That man you met the other night at Destiny."

Elena thought about how lost she had felt. How turned on she had been by the way Damon had touched her, kissed her. And how angry she would have been when he had offered that deal. "I don't know," she whispered. She gathered her courage, then lifted her head and met his eyes. "You mess me up, Damon. No one has ever messed me up the way you do."

"Baby," he said, "I know the feeling." Gently, he pulled her against him, and then held her close. He was hard, and she felt the press of his erection against her, but this moment wasn't sexual. Instead, it was tender, and she clung to him, feeling cherished for the first time in a long time.

Ten years? Forever?

For Elena, she realized, they were the same.

"I want to make love to you right now," Damon said. "I want to hold you and sink deep inside you and make up for ten long years without you, when you should have been in my bed," he said, as her body warmed and tingled under the gentle caress of his words. "I want to touch you and please you. I want to hold you and caress you and make you laugh and come and hope and dream. I want to watch your eyes when you soar with me. And then I want to hold you while you sleep."

She swallowed. "I really don't think that's a good idea, Damon."

"I know. Now we need to get dressed. If we don't hurry, we really will be late."

He ran his fingers through his hair once more, and then relinquished the bathroom so that she could do her hair and makeup.

Elena hurried, but it still took her twenty minutes. Her hair was long and she had decided to dry it and let it down. As for her makeup, she had never worn a lot, but even her minimal face routine took time. Finally, she had to find something to wear. In the end she had decided to go for a denim shirtdress.

When she was finally dressed with shoes and jewellery, she stepped out into the living room to find Damon fully dressed in the clothes he wore when he arrived this morning. He smelled clean, all soap and shampoo and male. And he looked positively gorgeous, tall and lean and sexy as he stood by the window and looked out at the bright, crisp afternoon.

"How the hell do men do that?" she asked, as he turned to look at her. "Just five lousy seconds in the bathroom and you look hot as sin."

"And just how hot is sin?"

"Very."

"In that case, thank you for the compliment. And even though you took longer than five minutes, I have to say that it was worth every second. You look incredible."

"Thank you."

He crossed to her, and kissed her lightly. "There is someplace I want to show you on the way."

"Where?"

He grinned. "Be patient, princess. I will tell you when we are there."

x x x

Elena had driven from her house to the Lockwood mansion more times than she could count, and yet in Damon's Camaro it felt as though this was the very first time.

"Nice ride," she said, her head back in the seat and her eyes closed. "You haven't changed, have you?" She opened her eyes long enough to grin at him. "You have a thing for Camaro."

"Camaro is a classic," he retorted, making her laugh. "I bought her from a collector as a present to myself when I turned thirty a few years back."

"What did you want to show me on the way?" she asked.

"You will just have to wait and see."

"Fair enough." She leaned herd head back and breathed deeply, and realized that for the first time in a very long time she felt completely contented. "You know we need to talk about the resort."

"I want to see the lake first. Then you can tell me your basic concept."

"And Wes Maxfield's sketches."

"Not interested," he said, and she bit back a smile. She had been expecting that answer.

"You still need to look," she said. "The investors might want your thoughts."

Elena expected another protest, but then he nodded. "But not before I see the lake. I don't want anyone else's vision in my head when I see the raw space. Certainly not Maxfield's."

She shot him an annoyed glance. "You don't like Wes, do you?"

"He is arrogant, for one thing," Damon says.

"So are you."

The words were undeniably true, but he only smiled. "Maybe." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Sorry. I just don't want his ideas in my head when I do my initial walk-through of the site."

"Okay." That much she understood. "Okay. Why don't we go tomorrow morning? I will call Bonnie and have her notify security we will be there, and then get her to get us a SUV."

"Tell her we will there," Damon said. "But we don't need the SUV."

"We don't? Why not?"

"What? Don't you think I can handle transportation?"

Elena narrowed her eyes. "The roads in Dunham Lake are pretty bad. You need a SUV to travel in that place. I sincerely doubt that this car turns into a SUV, for that matter."

"Do you trust me?" He asked the question casually, almost teasingly, but she thought she heard an undercurrent of something else. As if they had veered off the topic of transportation and onto something much more serious.

"Yes," she said, and realized that she meant it. Trust, however, was an elastic thing. And she was not entirely sure how far hers stretched.

Elena thought that Damon was going to say something more, but before he got the chance, her phone rang. She grabbed her purse off the floorboard, rummaged around, and answered the call.

"Are you busy?" Caroline asked.

"On our way to Lockwood mansion for lunch," she said.

"Our way," Caroline repeated. "So how did it go?"

"It is going just fine." She glanced sideways at Damon, who looked both curious and amused.

"Fine? Really?"

She couldn't help her laugh. "Yeah, really. Who would have guessed?"

"How very interesting," Caroline said with a singsong lilt to her voice. "I'm glad it is going fine, Elena. I will talk to you later."

She clicked off before Elena could respond, and she tucked her phone back into her purse.

"Who's that?" Damon asked.

"Caroline."

He rolled his eyes. "Blondie. What did she want?"

She shrugged casually. "Nothing. Just checking on me."

"Checking on you? Does she think you will be in danger?"

Elena laughed. "She is my best friend. Sometimes she is a little overprotective of me. But I know her intention is good."

"I know she is your best friend." He took his hand off the gear shift and squeezed hers. "I don't know what you told her, but I can guess. And I doubt that I'm high up on her favourite-person list."

"True," she said. "I guess you will just have to treat me really great to earn her respect and admiration."

She was teasing, but there was no humour in his eyes when his eyes met hers. "You should know that I don't really care what others think about me."

"Right."

They sat in silence for a moment.

"We both screwed this whole thing up," Damon said eventually. "And now I'm trying to fix it."

 _Give whatever we have got going for us another chance, okay?_

She didn't say anything but thought about his words.

"I didn't know why you pushed me away ten years ago," he continued. "That's why it hurts and that is why you pissed me off so goddamn much when you came back into my life. Not because you wanted me, but because you wanted what I do."

"I never didn't want you." Her words were a whisper, but she knew that he could hear them.

"I know. I get it."

"I'm sorry for hurting you, Damon. I really am."

"Tell me, Elena." His voice was gentle. "Tell me. Have you been with another guy since I left?"

"I haven't been involved in any serious relationships if this is what you mean." Elena rubbed her palms over her face, feeling weirdly embarrassed. "After you left Mystic Falls, well, I'd—god, it sounds stupid. But I'd follow you."

"Follow me?"

"Well, not in person. But your buildings. Your career. Everything," she added, thinking of the bits and pieces of gossip about the women in his personal life that she had seen over the last ten years.

"Why?"

It was a good question, and one Elena was not entirely sure she had an answer to. As far as she was concerned, a dozen shrinks would give a dozen explanations. "I don't really know. Maybe guilt. And then when I realized that I needed you for the resort…"

She trailed off with a shake of her head and sucked in air. "It was like the gods were trying to play a big joke on me, you know? Because I didn't know how to face you."

"And I went and made it worse for you. I'm sorry."

"No. Maybe. A little." Elena shrugged. "The truth is, we made it worse for each other."

"But now we will make it better." He reached over and took her hand. "I promise we will make it better."

She didn't answer him. Could they have a future together? She wasn't sure.

Damon must have recognized her shift in mood, because he turned in his seat to frown at her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She lied. "You have dated a lot of women. Rose Amber, for example. You were even with her at the premiere. It is all over the press that you are dating her."

"Dating her? No. But I was sleeping with her. I'm not anymore."

"I see."

"Actually, I don't think you do. I have slept with a lot of women, Elena. Before we were together and after I left."

"And now you are sleeping with me." Elena heard both hurt and jealousy in her voice. And it pissed her off.

"No." His voice was hard. Firm. "None of them are like you."

"Why not?"

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips for a gentle kiss. "Because you matter to me. And I didn't have anything to prove to them."

The words warmed her, even though she didn't entirely understand them.

"What do you have to prove to me?"

His grin was wide. "I guess you will know once I prove it."

Elena shook her head, amused. "How much longer until we get to what you want to show me?"

"Not much farther."

"And no clues?"

"Not even one," he said.

"Fine. In that case, I will continue to harass you about old girlfriends."

"Oh, joy."

Elena smirked. "Actually, it is more about the movie, but talking about Rose Amber reminded me. Someone says she is hoping to get a starring role, and that is why she cozied up to you."

"I wouldn't be at all surprised." Damon's voice was tight. "But considering I don't want to see the movie made at all, her plan is doomed to failure."

"Is it true you punched out the screenwriter?"

Elena saw his hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Please tell me you didn't read that in the gossip rags."

"No, I heard it from…from someone. Said it was very hush-hush."

"Good. I paid a lot of money to keep it hush-hush."

"You really did punch the guy." Elena was oddly fascinated by this. "I thought you were all about boxing clubs and not smacking down innocent people."

"Trust me," he said darkly. "That asshole was not innocent."

She decided not to press that point, but she couldn't stop thinking about the movie in general.

"What?" he said after they had driven about five minutes in absolute silence.

"I didn't say anything."

"No, but your thoughts are deafening."

"I just don't get it," Elena admitted. "That house is spectacular, and it is what put your career on the map. I know there was a tragedy there, but that was long after the house was completed and you were in Vegas working on the Union Bank building. So why does the thought of a movie bother you so much?"

"Because it is private." She heard the sharp edge to his voice and winced a bit. He noticed, and she watched as his shoulders sagged. "Sorry. But the whole project is surrounded by tragedy, and the damn producer who is interested in the film is sticking his nose in where it doesn't need to be. It is personal. It is private. And there are real people with real lives who are going to get hurt if the damn thing gets made."

Elena still didn't understand, but she was not going to push. It was clear enough to her that Damon hadn't told her the entire story. But considering she was hanging on tight to secrets of her own, she could hardly bitch too loudly.

She reached over and brushed her hand over his shoulder. "I may not understand why, but I get that it is important to you. And I hope you get the movie shut down, too."

His smile was one of thanks and acknowledgment. "Speaking of movies, Michael is hosting a fund-raiser at his house Friday night. For the National Historic and Architectural Conservation Project. It is a good cause, and he is a good guy. Will you go with me?"

"Of course." Elena wriggled a little in her seat. Considering everything they had now been through together, it was probably silly. But the thought of going on a proper date with Damon made her undeniably happy.

It was only then that she noticed that he had slowed to make a right turn. She glanced around, and then looked to him in question. "The Destiny?"

"You will see."

A short time later Damon stopped at the curb in front of a brick building. She glanced around, confused, and was about to ask Damon, but he was already getting out of the car. She did as well, and then followed him into the secured entrance. She waited while he punched in the code.

They went up the stairs to the fifth -floor loft in silence. Damon opened the door and groped for the switches on the wall to the right. He flipped two of the six, turning on some of the lights but not all, leaving large sections of the loft in shadow.

Elena surveyed the interior.

"Welcome to DS Design." He watched her prowl slowly forward, watching the sketches and diagrams. "This is where I work."

"This is amazing," she said as she looked at one of the drawings of the drawing boards.

"It was," he said. "I bought this place ten years ago. Just a few months before we were together."

"You…" She turned, something in his voice halting her words. "You left Mystic Falls not long after."

"Yes. We were only together for three months and I left after…after you asked me to leave you alone. I have moved DS Design to Los Angeles since then."

She said nothing, just watched him steadily.

"It is not a trick question and there is no hidden meaning. But I wanted to show you this place because I think it is special. This is the place where I can shape the world the way I see fit."

Elena didn't ask why he became an architect. She didn't need to. She could tell simply by watching him that he was doing exactly what he had been born to do. Even something as simple as his confident precision when he handled the Camaro proved that he embodied everything she admired. He was a man who didn't shrink from the world, but walked proudly within it, both capable and eager to reshape it in accordance with his own unique vision.

Had she seen that quality in him from the first moment? She must have, because why else would nothing more than a look from him had brought her to her knees?

"Some people could look at the sketch and not see anything other than a drawing. But you see everything." She waved a hand at the sketches and diagrams that filled the studio. "You have the talent to bring the drawing to life."

"I spent a lot of the first decade of my life in an artist's studio. Guess you pick up a few things when you are surrounded by the stuff during your impressionable years."

"Yes, of course. I heard your mother is an artist." She looked at him. Guilt and dismay shot through her. "I'm sorry, Damon. I know you must have put in a lot of effort in this place. But you had to leave everything behind because of me."

He was silent for a moment.

"Forget it," he said finally. "I don't want you to feel sorry for me."

He cupped her face in his hands, then bent low and brushed his lips gently over hers.

Elena didn't think. She didn't hesitate. She simply eased forward, rising on her toes to bring herself closer. To claim. And, yes, to surrender.

Damon didn't wait for her lips to reach his. She saw the change in his eyes—the moment when gentleness was pushed aside in favour of lust and need and the hard, demanding ache that throbbed between them. His hands shifted, one sliding into her hair and cupping the back of her head. The other snaking around her waist.

He pulled her close, his mouth opened to hers, his hips hard against her. She felt his erection straining against his trousers, and her body thrummed in response, her skin prickling and her sex hot and heavy and desperate for his touch. She felt his palm cupped her ass and pulled her in tighter even as his mouth warred with hers, his tongue finding and tasting her, thrusting and demanding. Taking everything she had to give and more.

When he finally pulled away from her, Elena wanted nothing more in that moment than to weep with regret.

"Tell me," he said, as his fingers slid through her hair. "Tell me why you look like a rabbit about to bolt."

Elena hesitated, but answered honestly. "You scare me."

He shook his head. "I don't think so. No, I think it is because I don't scare you." His eyes narrowed. "You are an enigma, Elena Gilbert. I think that is why I want you."

"We have something, Elena," he continued. "And it is not because I scare you."

She licked her lips nervously but said nothing.

"This," he said, gesturing between the two of them. "I know you feel it as palpably as I do. Please don't deny it." He moved closer. "Sweetheart, you need to trust it."

She wanted to. She had always wanted to. But…

She tilted her head back so she was looking right into his eyes. "What if I can't?"

"Then I will just have to convince you." He drew her close and kissed her again, this time slow and sweet, but it still set her head to spinning.

When he broke the kiss, he stepped back, and Elena felt her body moved with him, unwilling to let the distance between them increase.

"Come on," he said easily. "We have to go now. If we don't hurry, we will definitely be late."


	10. Chapter 10

_MYSTIC FALLS 2007_

Elena nodded blindly. All she knew was that she wanted more. She wanted the man—and she wanted to see just where Damon would take her.

Damon carefully adjusted her panties and skirt—his ministrations sending little electric shocks of pleasure zinging through her. She felt a tug of satisfaction when he also adjusted himself. She had a feeling it wasn't particularly comfortable to walk with an erection, and she felt a swell of feminine pride for being the one who got him in such dire straits.

He took her hand and led her towards the back, pausing now and then to chat with some of the waiters, the dancers, the bartenders. All very normal. All very businesslike. And Elena thought she would scream in frustration every time he delayed for even a second.

Finally, they moved through the employee area, passing dressing rooms, a conference room, several offices, and the kitchen on their way to the back door. Damon pushed it open, letting in a swath of sunlight that temporarily blinded her. As they started to step outside, she saw Klaus emerged from one of the offices. She had no doubt that he saw them, too. Nor did she have any doubt about the deep frown she saw etched across his face.

Not that Elena had long to think about Klaus' disapproval. The bright afternoon sun erased everything from her mind but the pleasure of the moment, and when they arrived at Damon's car, she laughed outright in joy.

"You have a Camaro."

Damon looked offended. "Not just a Camaro It is a 1962 Camaro. This thing is a classic."

"It is fabulous," Elena said, and meant it. It was a vibrant blue with sleek lines. Most important, the top was down. He held the door open for her, and she had to smile at the gentlemanly nature of the action in stark contrast to the very ungentlemanly way he'd had his fingers up her panties in public only moments before.

Damon Salvatore was an exercise in contradictions, even more than she had known. But, then again, so was she.

She slid into the car and settled back in the warm leather seat. Even before he started the engine, she imagined the thrum of speed and the wind whipping through her hair.

"There should be a scarf in the glove compartment if you want one," he said, as if reading her mind. He had fired the engine and was waiting to make a left turn out of the parking lot.

"Not on your life," Elena countered, although she did open the compartment and peer inside. Sure enough, there were a variety of coloured scarves. "For your harem?" she teased, fighting a knot of jealousy. Honestly, the man was gorgeous, eligible, and single. Just because she had never seen him bring a date to the football matches didn't mean there wasn't a gaggle of women waiting in the wings for him. That redhead just now had looked pretty cosy on his lap.

The thought didn't sit well with her at all.

"I have a lot of things," Damon said, as he accelerated. "A harem isn't one of them."

Elena didn't answer, but as she settled back to enjoy the ride, she was smiling.

Traffic was smooth, so it took only ten minutes to reach the Salvatore boarding house.

Damon handled the car with the same gentle yet firm touch with which he had handled her, and the Camaro was at least as responsive. Now he had his hand draped loosely over the steering wheel and the other on her thigh, where it had been for most of the journey. It was just resting there, his thumb making idle back and forth motions that seemed unconscious, but Elena knew were purposefully designed to drive her crazy.

Honestly, she no longer gave a fig about the wind in her hair and the sun on her shoulders. With each mile, each foot, each inch that they drew closer to the house, all she wanted was to climb out of the damn car and slide into Damon's arms. The anticipation was killing her, and despite the fact that during the drive, he had touched her in only the most casual of ways, her body was primed—the rhythm of the engine, the vibrations of the road, and the presence of the man keeping her blissfully on edge.

When the house was only one block ahead, Damon turned to her. "Shall we just take off?" he asked. "Cruise all the way up to Richmond. Continue through to Washington DC and keep going until we cross over into Canada?"

Hell no. Elena wanted to scream the words. To rail at him for even thinking of teasing her like that. But she had lost too many points in this game already, and so she leaned her head back, casually closed her eyes, and lifted a negligent shoulder. "Whatever you want," she said. She opened her eyes long enough to look at him. "You are in control, right?"

He chuckled, then kept his foot on the accelerator as they breezed past the house. Elena bit back a curse, not quite believing that he was calling her bluff. Then he glanced sideways, met her eyes, and hit the brakes.

"Damon!"

"Forget Canada," he said, twisting the wheel into a sharp left turn and then speeding back toward the house. There was heat in his eyes as he pulled up to the driveway. "I want you naked."

"Oh."

A man came out of the house and Elena recognised him. He was Damon's housekeeper. As the man opened the car door for her, Damon popped the trunk and pulled out a leather briefcase. He tossed the keys to the man, then took her elbow and led her inside. As soon as they were inside Damon's bedroom, he moved closer to her, pressing his palms against the wall as he caged her with his body. "Do you remember the alley?"

It was only the controlled sensuality of his voice that kept her from laughing. Did she remember it? How could she forget?

But Elena said none of that. She only nodded.

"Do you remember what I said I wanted to do to you?"

Suddenly shy, she didn't quite meet his eyes. But she nodded. Every single word was burned into her memory.

"Tell me."

Her stomach twisted with nerves, but the rest of her tingled simply from the promise of what was to come. "What?"

Damon leaned forward, and she felt his lips brush against her ear as he spoke, the contact sending shivers rushing through her to pool between her legs. "Tell me what I said to you. Tell me what I want to do."

"I—" Elena wanted to protest, but one look at his face nixed that plan. She looked quickly away. When she spoke, her voice was so low she wasn't certain he could even hear her. "You said you wanted to strip me bare. That you wanted my breasts in your hands and my nipples tight between your fingers." As if in response to her words, her nipples tightened and her breasts felt suddenly needy.

He reached up and ran his fingers through her hair, lifting it, then leaning even closer to graze his lips over her bare neck. She shuddered, certain she was going to come undone right at that very moment.

"I'm impressed," he murmured. "What else?"

"You—you wanted your mouth on me." Her breath was ragged and she gathered her courage, then pulled away enough that she could see his eyes reflecting back every bit of heat that was coursing through her. "You said you wanted to make me come."

His eyes seemed to go even darker with her words, but his face remained unchanged, as if any reaction would trigger an explosion. For a moment, they only stared at each other, the air between them vibrating, her entire existence hinging on the need for his touch.

His voice was raw when he finally spoke. "I did say all that. And I want a hell of a lot more that I didn't say." He traced a fingertip along her jawline. "You said you wanted it, too." He paused, the moment hanging heavy between them. "Is it still what you want?"

Elena nodded.

"Say it."

She opened her mouth to speak, but it was too dry. She swallowed and tried again. "Yes," she said. "Oh, god, yes."

He took her hand and led her closer to his bed, but paused before they reached the edge of the bed. For a moment, he just looked at her. So long, in fact, that she began to feel uncomfortable.

"What?"

"All this time," he said, but didn't continue.

She shook her head, not understanding.

"All this time, all these weeks." His brow furrowed as he studied her face, as if she was a puzzle to be solved. "I have thought there was something about you. Something I couldn't put my finger on."

"You see me," she said simply. "I think you have always seen me."

His smile was slow, gentle, and sweetly sexy. "Why would I want to look anywhere else?"

Elena felt her cheeks bloom with delight at the compliment. Then she followed him to the bed, feeling suddenly awkward. Like a teenager on a first date.

"Damon." She swallowed, those first date nerves firing up again. "So, shall we have something to drink?"

"No," he said simply. "I already told you what I want. I want you naked."

Beneath the lace of her bra, her nipples tightened. "I—oh."

He nodded towards the bed. "On the bed. On your back. I will be along soon. Unless you would rather leave," he added, when she didn't move.

Slowly, Elena shook her head. And then, in the thick silence, Damon turned and started towards the bathroom.

She moved slowly, part of her wondering why she was so tentative. This was exactly what she had wanted—and more. A man to take control. To not ask, but to tell. To not hesitate, but to act.

No, she corrected. Not a man. Damon.

There had only ever been Damon.

She still couldn't quite believe she was here—and since she was sure she didn't want him to go away, she did as she had been told, gathering her courage and then unzipping her skirt. She considered folding it neatly, but she liked the recklessness that came from leaving it in a puddle on the floor, topped by her very damp panties.

She kicked her boots aside and then moved to the bed, still in her bra and underwear. The air conditioner was blowing, and the breeze from the vent above her tickled her skin, and made her hyperaware of just how overheated she was.

Slowly, she let her fingers drifted over the swell of her breasts. She found the clasp on her bra and unfastened it, as well. She closed her eyes, savouring the moment. All her wildness, all her adventures, and yet she had never done anything like this before. She wanted it—dear god, she wanted it—but she couldn't ignore the ripples of nerves or the tiny beads of sweat at the back of her neck and under her arms.

She drew in a deep breath for courage, then tugged off the bra and left it draped over the headboard, as if she had tossed it there in a flurry of undressing.

And then that was it. She was naked.

She was naked, and she was alone. And she was all kinds of nervous.

She sat on her knees on the bed, since that seemed to be the most modest way to sit. Then she remembered that Damon had wanted her on her back. She considered staying on her knees anyway, but she could still hear his toss-away comment about leaving.

Okay, then. On her back it was.

She stretched out, her legs so tight together they might have been superglued. She tried keeping her arms at her sides, but only managed that for about sixteen seconds before crossing them over her chest.

Elena wanted to be a vixen, really she did. she wanted to stretch out and enjoy the feel of the satin duvet on her naked skin. She wanted to spread her legs. To prop herself up when he entered the room, then beckon him in with a crook of her finger and a come-hither smile.

Unfortunately, her fantasies hadn't quite caught up to her reality. And her reality was all tied up with her nerves.

"You are stunning," Damon said from the doorway.

She lifted her head enough to see him leaning casually against the door frame with a glass of bourbon in his hand. He wasn't smiling. Instead, he was looking at her with such intense longing that it was no longer nerves she felt, but arousal.

She licked her lips and managed a smile. "I thought you didn't want a drink."

Damon didn't answer. Instead he took one step into the room and it struck her suddenly that this was a man who could have anything he wanted anytime he wanted it. But he was here, tonight, with her.

The corner of his mouth curved up, and she entertained herself with the thought that he could read her mind. More likely, though, he was simply pleased with how well she had followed instructions.

"I wanted the bourbon," he said. "But I want you more." He took a sip as he let his gaze trail slowly over her. If vision were a caress, then there would be no part of her that he didn't stroke throughout the course of that long, slow inspection. She was hot. Needy. And, yes, she was ready.

"Put your head back," he said gently, "and close your eyes." And although she hated losing sight of him, she complied.

"Your breasts are perfect," he murmured. "Don't hide them. Put your hands to your sides."

Her arms were still crossed over her chest, and now she slowly moved her arms to her sides. As she did, she reminded herself that she wanted this—and she did, she really did. But at the same time, she couldn't help but wish that it wasn't the afternoon, and the sun wasn't streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. she felt exposed—which, of course, was exactly what Damon wanted her to feel.

"Spread your legs, baby."

"Damon," she said nothing else, but there was no missing the protest in her tone.

"Spread your legs."

Elena squeezed her eyes more tightly shut and did as he ordered. At first, the air cooled her overheated sex. But that faded quickly. Her inner thighs seemed as hot as embers, and she was suddenly acutely aware of how open she was. How wet she was. How terribly, wonderfully, deliciously exposed she was. Her muscles clenched as if in anticipation, and her clit was a hard, demanding nub.

"Oh, baby," he said. "You look good enough to eat."

"Why don't you?" she whispered, shocked that she could not only form words, but that she would utter such provocative and demanding ones.

He chuckled. "Patience."

She whimpered, absolutely certain that if she didn't do something to release some of the pressure bubbling up inside me, she was going to spontaneously combust.

"Do you want to be touched?" he asked. His voice was closer now, and she realized that he had stepped closer to the bed.

"Yes."

"Do you want a fingertip stroking you? Playing with your clit while your orgasm builds? Teasing your nipples into tight buds?"

The muscles of her sex throbbed in response to his words, and she heard the smile in his voice when he said, "I thought so, baby. But you know this is dangerous."

"What?" She couldn't possibly have heard him right.

"This is dangerous," he said. "This is very dangerous."

When she opened her mouth to reply, then silenced her with a kiss.

It was, Elena thought later, that kiss that had launched her into space. Because it started the chain reaction. It was long and deep and had the effect of melting her, making her soft and malleable, her body little more than a repository for sensation. And then he exploited that state by slowly—painfully slowly—trailing a line of kisses down her neck and over her collarbone.

When Damon reached her breast, he closed his mouth over hers and drew her in, scraping his teeth lightly over her nipple, then using his tongue to drive her absolutely crazy with his mouth as his fingers traced lazy designs up and down her other breast.

Every touch seemed magnified. Every lick more intimate, every caress more sensual. She moaned in both pleasure and anticipation when his mouth abandoned her breast to spread kisses down her belly.

"Oh, god, Damon," she whispered.

He murmured an unintelligible reply against her skin, and then his lips were grazing the top of her pubic bone, and then straight down—no slow build, no tease upon her inner thighs—just a full-on assault on her senses as his tongue flicked over her clit on his way down, down, down.

Elena arched up, pleasure coursing through her, as he thrust his tongue into her with power and skill. His hands were on her hips to hold her in place, and his mouth closed over hers, tasting and teasing. And his own groans of pleasure only made the waves inside her build faster.

"Do you have any idea how incredible you taste? How much you have exceeded every fantasy, every expectation?"

But she didn't care about sweet words right then. "Please," she begged, her hips bucking with insistence. "Please, don't stop."

"Never," he said.

Damon played with her, nipping and licking and sucking. And with every touch and every stroke Elena could feel the waiting orgasm building like a swell of waves growing before a storm. Higher and higher until there was nowhere else to go, and she went soaring off into the night sky, then crashed down like so much froth upon the shore.

"Oh, god," she said, because she couldn't seem to manage anything more articulate. "Oh, god, oh, god."

He slid up her body and held her, but kept his hand cupped around her sex, his finger idly stroking her. She didn't know if he was purposefully trying to keep her on edge, but she didn't care. Right then, he could do any damn thing to her he wanted.

"That was amazing," she said, turning her head to receive his gentle kiss. "But I want you. I want you inside me."

"Tell me," Damon muttered. "Tell me how much you want me."

"I can't. There are no words."

"You are not going to regret?"

"No. Never."

"Elena." Damon took her mouth with swift urgency and slipped his fingers into her moist heat again. "God, yes. Like that."

He moved his lips to her throat while he fought to lower the zipper of his jeans. Then he fumbled blindly in his pocket for the small foil packet.

It seemed to take forever before he was ready, but in reality, it was only a few damp, breathless moments.

"Damon?"

"Right here." He settled between Elena's legs and felt the warmth of her soft, inner thighs cradle him. She was wet and ready and reaching for him.

He had never wanted anything this badly in his whole life. He reached down to guide himself to the sultry entrance of her body. He groaned as he thrust slowly and deliberately into her.

She was warm and slick and so snug that he could hardly breathe. She pulled him close and wrapped herself fiercely around him.

"My God, Elena."

"Don't leave me," she whispered. "I have never dreamed it would be like this."

"Like what?"

"Like finding the other half of myself."

He waged a monumental battle with his self-control, but it slipped from his grasp even as Elena drew him into her. He held her more tightly than he had ever held anyone or anything else in his life.

Triumph, satisfaction, a feeling of wholeness and a pounding sense of joy raced through him, a fabulous maelstrom of emotions that he could not begin to sort out. He didn't care. He only knew one thing for certain in that gloriously shattering moment, and that was enough for now.

He and Elena belonged together.

Her release swept through her in seconds. She heard Damon groaned as he followed her over the edge and into the effervescent seas that awaited them.

x x x

Elena woke in pitch-black, sweetly relaxed and completely sated. Damon had made love to her twice more. He had focused entirely on her, making her exquisitely aware of her body, of each millimetre of her skin, of every nerve that had the power to send sweet pleasure twisting through her. He had used her up, and when she was finally limp and lost, warm and sleepy, he had pulled her close, and held her as she drifted off.

When she slid across the bed to find him, she had to fight down the sharp stab of fear she felt at realizing he wasn't there.

"Damon?" She sat up, telling herself that gone didn't mean gone. He could be in the bathroom. He could be on the phone. He could be anywhere.

But she wanted him beside her.

She sat up, then padded into the bathroom. He wasn't there, but she grabbed a robe off the hook behind the door, wrapped the terry cloth tight around her, and headed out into the hallway to look for Damon.

She found him in the darkened living room, standing near the window. He had pulled on his slacks, but remained shirtless. She took a step toward him. "Damon?"

Damon looked up at her, but she wasn't sure that he saw her. He seemed faraway, lost deep in thought. Then his expression cleared and he smiled, holding out his hand in an invitation that she eagerly accepted. "Hello, beautiful. You look rested."

Elena tilted her head up to receive his kiss. "You, sir, wore me out. But in the best possible way."

His dimple flashed. "I'm very glad to hear it. Are you hungry?"

"Mostly for you," she said. She expected him to laugh and was disappointed when the smile that touched his lips seemed forced and didn't reach his eyes.

Elena cleared her throat. "The truth is, I'm starving."

The moment she said it, she had to acknowledge that it was true. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten.

"Unless there is a grill, I'm a terrible cook," he confessed. "How are your culinary skills?"

She grinned. "Then today is your lucky day because I'm pretty handy in the kitchen."

Damon raised his brows. "You cook?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I have spent a lot of time with Caroline's mum in the kitchen. She is an amazing cook."

"Does it mean we can have soufflés as our late-night snack?" he teased.

Elena laughed. "It depends what do you have in your kitchen."

"Why don't we find out together?" He held her hand and led her towards the kitchen.

Elena opened the refrigerator and contemplated the contents inside.

"Are you sure you want to cook?" he asked. "I'm happy with take-aways. I'm easy like that."

"How does spinach lasagne sound?" She pulled out a lettuce. "I think a salad to go together with the lasagne will be fantastic. Oh, you have some bread as well."

"Can you operate an oven?" he asked.

"I can not only work an oven," she bragged, "I can even manage a frying pan," she added. "Why don't you get me the olive oil and get the bread inside the oven?"

"Sweetheart," he said with a smile, "you have just made my evening."

Elena reached up to remove a stainless-steel colander from a hook. There was an easy competency in her movements that told him she was comfortable in a kitchen.

He removed the loaf of crusty, rustic-style bread and put it inside the oven. He grudgingly pointed toward a cupboard. "The olive oil is in there." He tipped his head slightly in the opposite direction. "Salt, pepper and herbs are in there."

"Thanks."

For a few minutes, they worked side-by-side without speaking. Elena was aware that Damon kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Do your parents know you like to cook?" he finally asked. "I mean, have you ever cooked for them?"

"They are too busy," she answered as she put the lasagne noodles in the pot of boiling water. "Maria normally does the cooking at our house. She is a pretty good cook. But she is happy for me to fool around in the kitchen."

Damon hesitated. "Have you ever cooked for Matt?"

"No." She put the mince, spinach, onions and garlic into the frying pan. "Matt is a burger and pizza guy."

"I see. But you are not a burger or pizza girl."

She wrinkled her nose. "No, of course not." She added some white wine, parsleys, Italian seasonings, salt and pepper to the pan before bringing the sauce to a simmer. "What about you?"

He looked intrigued. "Me? Am I a burger or pizza guy?"

She took out the noodles and drained them in a colander and rinsed with cool water. "No. Did your girlfriend cook for you?"

Damon flashed her a smile. "Jealous?"

She rolled her eyes while she started assembling the lasagne. "I'm just curious." She sprinkled a layer of grated cheese in between of the lasagne. "I thought your girlfriend would have cooked for you."

He took out two wine glasses from the cupboard and put them on the table. "No."

"Your girlfriend never cook for you?" she asked as she put the lasagne into the oven after removing the bread loaf.

He took the bread from her and took out a bread knife from the drawer. "There isn't a girlfriend, if that's what you are asking."

"Oh."

There was a short silence. And then she got busy tossing the salad together while Damon took the plates down from a cupboard.

Twenty minutes later, the lasagne, salad and bread were on the table. They sat at the table and as they ate in companionable silence, she glanced at Damon. His brows were furrowed while he ate the lasagne and salad.

"What's the matter?" she said, and he looked up to see that she was peering at him over the rim of her wine glass.

Damon gathered himself and used his knife to smear butter on his bread. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"Deep thoughts, apparently."

He laughed. "I don't know how deep," he said. "Just melancholy."

Elena reached out and brushed her fingers over his hand that still held the knife. "Tell me."

"I was just thinking about all this," he said, gesturing between the two of us. "I don't think anyone will be thrilled, especially Matt."

She leaned back in her chair. "I broke up with Matt."

Damon didn't say anything immediately. Instead, he got up and moved to the counter to get another bottle of wine. There was nothing awkward about his movements, but she had the impression that he was measuring his words.

Finally, he turned back to her. "Why?"

"What?" she asked.

"Why did you break up with him? He is the golden boy in Mystic Falls. He is perfect for you."

"Matt is a great guy but he is not the perfect guy for me."

The corner of his mouth curved up for just a moment before his features settled back into an expression of bland indifference.

She frowned. "Damon?"

"Your parents may not agree with you," he said, putting some distance between them. "I don't think they would be happy when they find out."

"I don't care what they think." She pushed back from the table, the screech of the chair against the tile underscoring the anger she felt. "I don't want to be with Matt anymore. I want to be with you."

His face reflected shock, but she had no way of knowing if it was a reaction to her words.

"I want to be with you, Damon. I like you, dammit!" Her voice rose in mounting fury. "I'm not going to be your Saturday-afternoon playmate." She grabbed her wine glass and hurled it across the room. It shattered on the floor, sending dregs of wine to splatter on the grey tiles and neutral beige walls.

She gasped, then turned to run from the kitchen. She wanted to throw herself onto the bed and cry. She wanted to kick Damon Salvatore in the balls. She wanted to race out of this house that right now felt so damn confining and just get lost.

She wanted to escape herself, but there was nowhere else to go and no one else to be.

And she couldn't do any of that anyway, because Damon caught her arm and jerked her violently back to him. Then he clutched her other arm, as well. He held her there, his hands tight on her upper arms, as she battled down the urge to spit in his face.

"No," he said. And then more forcefully, "Goddammit, Elena, no."

Elena tried to shake free, but he held her tight. Her arms, she was certain, would be bruised by morning.

"Let go of me!"

"No!"

"Matt was right," she said. "You only want to sleep with me. You only want the sex."

"Do not—do not—bring that bastard into this conversation."

"I'm not even going to have this conversation," she said wearily. "Just let go of me."

"I'm not letting you go." The ferocity in his voice slashed over her. "Please listen to me."

"Let go of me!"

"No!"

She glared at him.

"Please," he said, but it was his tone more than the plea that melted her.

"All right," she whispered. "Talk."

Reluctantly she followed him into the living room.

Damon released her arms, then took a step backward and ran a hand through his hair. "Everyone in town know that Salvatore men are trouble. My family is slick, smart and dangerous. That's what everyone in town describe us."

She ignored him. "I don't care what the others think. You won't hurt me."

He turned to her, capturing her in the wild blue of his eyes. "I'm bad, Elena. I'm bad for you. I'm a man who gets what he wants, princess, even if I have to take it. I know I have to stay away from good girls like you. Good girls like you aren't meant for bad guys like me. I was fine until I touched you, Elena. Fine until we crossed that line. But now that I have felt your skin against mine—now that I have tasted you—there is no way I can stop myself from wanting more of you."

"Oh."

Elena sank down to sit on the couch as she tried to organize her thoughts. At the moment, she didn't exist as a rational being. She was only emotion, and that emotion was joy.

Joy, yes. But confusion, too. "But at Destiny—you put me off. I mean, not only did you put me off, but you put on that whole show with that redhead."

She heard the jealousy in her voice, and from the way the corner of his lip twitched, she knew he heard it, too. "I don't get involved with the girls at the club," he said, as her body sagged with relief.

"Never?"

"I believe I have mentioned that I have a code. And not sleeping with my employees is high up on my list."

"Does that little redhead realize that?" she asked cattily, then immediately wished she could pull back her words when Damon chuckled.

"Careful," he said. "Green isn't your best colour."

"Dammit, Damon, I…"

"Hush." He moved to sit beside her, then gently stroked her cheek before tucking her hair behind my ear. "Christy was putting on a show. For your benefit, actually, although she has done it before. Sometimes I find it beneficial for colleagues to have a certain impression of me."

"And she knows it is all a show?"

"She does," he said, then gently kissed the tip of her nose. "And so does Mary."

"Who is Mary?"

"Her lover."

"Oh." Elena grinned. "Oh," She repeated as what he said sank in. But then she thought about it more, and had to press. "I still don't understand why you did that. The whole show to turn me off. All the fighting to push me away. You want me."

"I know," he said. He took her hand and idly traced her fingers with his. "I'm still bad for you, Elena and for all the same reasons."

"You haven't told me those reasons."

"No. I haven't. And I don't intend to."

She eyed him, certain that she knew. This was all tied up with Matt and her father's allegations. He was involved in some sort of criminal shit, and she would be lying if she didn't admit she was curious—and intrigued. There was sweet temptation in the danger, and she licked her lips, wondering if she should press the point. If she should ask him what he was mixed up in. If she should press for details about his crimes. But she kept her mouth shut. That kind of talk might push him away—and she was selfish enough not to want to go there. She wanted the reality of the man in her bed, and the fantasy of his wild and dangerous side was just an added perk.

"If you are such a bad person," I said instead, "then why did you give in at all?"

He brushed his lips over hers. "Because I like you. I like you a lot. Dammit, Elena, do you have any idea how long I have fought the urge to touch you? For that matter, do you have any idea how close I came to breaking my word after that damned alley? I meant what I said—you are my goddamned Kryptonite, and you have totally destroyed all my defences."

His words crashed over her, tempting her even as he tethered her. Didn't she already know this was a man she could let go with—a man who unleashed a wildness in her. With Damon, she felt free and alive.

"Your parents will be pissed if they find out about us," he said. "I don't think your father will like the idea of us sleeping together."

Elena understood what he meant. Once her father had won the campaign and stepped into the world of politics, she needed to be squeaky clean because anything else could cost her father his career, not to mention his reputation.

She took a deep breath, trying to organize her thoughts. Because the truth was, she wanted more than this one night with Damon. She wanted a connection. She wanted them to be real and solid and shining.

She hesitated, taking a moment to draw courage. "I think you deserved the truth."

"What are you talking about?" Damon was watching her intently, and there was a small crease above his nose, as if he was concentrating on a particularly knotty problem. That, apparently, would be her.

She sucked in a breath. "I will go to Whitmore once I finish high school this year. That is why I went to Destiny." Her cheeks flamed, which was ridiculous considering all they had done together in the last few hours. "I wanted to have you. Just once. I wanted to finish what we started. More than that, I wanted the way you make me feel."

"But?" There was an edge to his voice that she couldn't quite identify.

"But once wasn't enough. Now I want more," she said firmly. "I thought I could get you out of my system by having you once. I want to be with you, Damon."

She was breathing hard, watching him.

"No," he said.

Elena looked up sharply, prepared to protest, but didn't have the chance before he continued.

"No," he repeated. "I don't think you will ever be out of my system."

She held her breath as he reached out, trailing a finger down the neckline of the robe.

"I want more," he whispered. Slowly, he reached out and tugged loose the tie of the robe, then spread the top open, revealing her shoulders and breasts. "I want you to be mine," he said. He brushed the pad of his thumb over her nipple. "I want you to be mine forever." He took his thumb off her breast and drew it along her lower lip, then thrust it gently into her mouth. She opened for him, sucking and tasting, her eyes closed as she simply revelled in it.

"Forever," she repeated.

"Yes, forever." He stroked his palms down her bare shoulders. "Do you like it?"

Elena hesitated. She should back off. She should say no but she didn't. "Yes," she whispered as he closed his fingers over hers. "I liked it."

"Me, too." He stood up, then held out a hand for her. "Come here, Elena," he said, gently pulling her to her feet. The robe hung open, and he pushed it off her arms, leaving her naked.

She fought the urge to bend down for the robe, but honestly, it didn't take much effort. She wanted to be naked with this man. She wanted to be wild with him.

"Come with me," Damon said, then led her to the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, then guided her on, as well.

She knelt on the mattress, sitting back on her ankles. Then she cocked her head and regarded him playfully. "I'm not sure I'm quite as compliant as Caroline."

His smile was slow and held a touch of victory. "Is that a fact?"

"Mmm."

"Well, what would Caroline do?" he asked.

"She would be bold," she said, as she moved closer. "If she wanted something from a man, she would just take it." She reached down, and stroked his cock through his slacks, then sucked in air as she felt it turn to steel in response to her touch. "Or maybe she would just drive him wild," she said, as she slid her hand slowly up and down. "Take him to the edge and then push him over, knowing that she was the one who made him fall."

"Elena." He drew in a noisy breath. He reached out for her and kissed his way down the length of her. When she felt the edge of his teeth on the inside of her thigh, she gasped and twisted her fingers in his hair.

He used his hands and his tongue on her until she was melting and desperate for him. Only then did he pause to sit on the side of the bed. He stood and stripped off his slacks and briefs. When he came back to her, she made a place for him between her legs and wrapped him close.

He thrust into her. "Elena," he groaned. "Shit, Elena, you feel fucking amazing."

He was close. She could tell by the way that tension was building in his body as they moved together, and she moaned with pleasure at the way he filled her.

"Damon…"

His kiss was hard and demanding and very effectively shut her up. "I didn't get a condom."

"I'm on the pill," she said. "And I assumed you were clean."

"I am," he said.

"So, that's why you stopped?"

He laughed. "Baby, I'm still inside you. Is that stopping?"

"No, but—"

He pressed his finger over her lips. "I seem to recall mentioning to you that I like being in control."

"Oh. Right. You might have said that," she admitted, squirming beneath him. "I kind of wonder whether I should take over."

"Careful. That's the kind of thing a woman can get punished for."

"Is that so?" she asked playfully.

"Hell, yes," he said, returning her smile with one of his own, and then staying perfectly still.

He was still hard inside her, and yet he wasn't moving. Elena groaned in protest and tried to shift her hips in silent demand. But she couldn't do much; he had trapped her good and tight.

She was beginning to understand what he meant by "punishment."

He grinned knowingly. "Frustrated, Elena?"

"Even if I were, I wouldn't admit it."

He laughed outright, and the sound delighted her. "How do you do that?" she asked.

"How do I do this?" he asked, moving slowly inside her.

"Oh, thank god. Finally," she said, arching up to silently urge him to thrust deeper. "But what I meant was, how do you send this melange of emotions coursing through me?" She had to concentrate on getting the words out. "You take me to the edge, you make me feel like I'm the manifestation of sensual pleasure. And then you turn it on its head and make me laugh out loud." She paused for just a heartbeat. "I don't remember ever having so much fun in bed."

He slid up her body and kissed her gently. "Me either. Of course," he added, his tone sharpening a bit as he traced his fingertip over her naked breasts. "As I believe we have already established, we have barely scratched the surface of what I can make you feel." As he spoke, he rubbed his thumb and forefinger over her nipple, the friction making the nub even tighter. He squeezed his fingers tighter, intensifying the pleasure—and the pain.

"Oh, really?" Elena concentrated on his fingers, on that pinching sensation that hurt a little, but at the same time felt remarkably wow, as if everything she wanted to feel had been captured and held there for her to experience. She remembered his words in the alley—the way he had wanted to pinch her nipples.

She felt the muscles of her sex clench around him, already anticipating the new onslaught of sensations to come.

From the way he smiled at her, she could tell he had felt her body's response—and understood exactly what it meant.

Damon was ripping her apart with every thrust, shattering her, breaking her. He was utterly destroying her, and yet nothing had ever felt so perfect as the sensation of this man inside her. With each thrust he took her higher. With each soft moan, he brought them closer.

He leaned over her, his hips moving in a steady rhythm. She worked in tandem with him, and when their bodies were in sync, he released her hips. At first she mourned the loss of contact. Then she realized that he had reached underneath them, one hand going to stroke her clit and the other clutching tight to her breast as he slammed into her over and over and deeper and deeper until she finally spiralled off into the heavens with Damon holding on tight.

She was still soaring, her vision barely returning, when his orgasm rocked them both. He exploded inside her, holding her tight as he released himself into her.

"Damon," she said his name like a prayer.

He held her like that for a moment, his body draped over hers, one arm around her and the other keeping him balanced over her. She felt him grow soft inside her and she felt the gentle kisses he trailed down her spine.

"Elena," he murmured, but the sound was so soft she wasn't entirely sure that he had meant for her to hear it.

Finally, he pulled out, then gathered her into his arms as if she weighed no more than a kitten. Then he brushed a kiss over her lips.

Elena was sleepy now, completely drained, and she clung to him as he took her into the bathroom and cleaned them both up. Then he carried her back to the bed, got in beside her, and pulled her close.

She closed her eyes, and his soft, "You are wonderful," was the last thing she heard before she slipped over to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

_MYSTIC FALLS 2017_

"Damon," Carol Lockwood says, holding out her hand to greet Damon at the bottom of the stairs. "It is such a pleasure to see you again. And, Elena, I love the dress."

Elena smiled at her. "Thanks. You look amazing as usual."

"Let's get you both a drink," Carol says, moving between them so she could take both Elena and Damon by the arm as they walked toward the stunning staircase that led to the Richard's third-floor living room. "I was thrilled when Richard told me you had agreed to do the resort. I think you will bring something very special to the project."

"I'm happy to be on board," Damon said, and Elena couldn't help but wonder if Carol noticed the way his eyes went to her. "Sorry we are a bit late."

"We went to Damon's workplace, that's why we are late," Elena added, hoping Carol couldn't tell the way her cheeks were heating. Because the truth was, she didn't really want to be here. Not now. All she wanted to do was to feel Damon's hands on her.

"Not a problem," Carol continued easily, and Elena was grateful that she could not hear her thoughts. "Like I said, we want to keep this casual." They paused at the base of the stairs. "Let me run through who is here so you will know. It is a small list. Just you two, me and Richard, of course. Then there's Enzo and Bonnie—they are from Gilbert International," she explained to Damon.

"I have met Enzo," Damon said. "He was in Elena's office when I agreed to work on the project."

"Oh, good," Carol said.

"Where is Tyler?" Damon asked.

"Tyler is in San Francisco at the moment," Carol explained. "He doesn't want to work for his dad."

Damon looked thoughtful. "I understand what Tyler is thinking. Richard and you need to let him go. Let him succeed or let him fail but let him do it by himself." He paused. "I hope you didn't think me unforgivably rude for saying something like that."

Carol smiled. "Not rude, just honest. And I totally get where you were coming from. Tyler wants to prove that he can do it on his own. Unlike him, though, you have already proven yourself in spades."

"He has," Elena agreed, feeling as proud of Damon's accomplishments as if she had designed his buildings herself.

"I appreciate the compliment," he said as they started to climb the stairs. "Your house is stunning," he said to Carol.

Elena knew he found the outside impressive, because he commented on it as they drove up. The entrance was equally awe inspiring, with a doorway that opened onto a formal living area backed by a wall of glass that revealed the infinity pool beyond. And the broad expanse of stairs acted as a second focal point, directing those staying inside to the third floor where guests were routinely entertained.

"Thanks," Carol said. "We had a major renovation a few years back. This mansion was built in the 1800s. I will take credit for the furniture and some of the paint colours. But that's pretty much it."

"The paint colours are stunning," Damon said, making Carol laughed.

They reached the third floor landing and paused there. To be honest, it was impossible to climb these stairs and not pause at the top, because what they saw upon arrival was so incredible that it took a moment to catch their breath. The area was huge and designed for entertaining, and from where they stood they could see both the patio—the glass doors were now opened to allow a stunning view of the garden—and the stone fireplace that sat at an angle to the stairs so that it, too, faced the garden.

"It is lovely," Damon said. "You should be proud of it."

"I am," Carol admitted. "But I can't take all the credits. Richard and Meredith contribute majority of the ideas in the design and construction process."

"Meredith Fell designed this house?" Damon asked.

"Yes. She is here today. Richard thought Damon might enjoy talking to another architect. Just a small group of people connected to the resort or Richard personally. I didn't want it to be overwhelming."

"Meredith is a very talented architect but she mainly focuses on houses," Elena told Damon. "She works for Gilbert International."

"Meredith and I were in the same year at high school but we were in different classes," Damon explained. "She is a pretty talented person. At least if this house is any indication."

"Brian is here as well," Carol said. "I forgot to mention him earlier."

"Our photographer as well as Meredith's husband," Elena explained. "I have got a portfolio of images of the lake to show you. I want to include them in a marketing brochure, and I thought they would also make cool artwork for the public areas, maybe the individual rooms. I haven't chosen a designer yet. But I would like your thoughts on that. I want to make sure that we hire someone who knows how to work with your design and not against it."

He met her eyes. "Absolutely."

Elena nodded, satisfied and, she realized, she was happy. Because it was not just their personal relationship that had come together, it was their professional one, too. And the idea of working with someone as talented as Damon Salvatore thrilled her. It was what Damon did—designing buildings, changing the face of the world—that made her a little bit giddy.

His smile widened, and she was absolutely certain Damon knew what she was thinking.

"Come on," Elena said with a smirk. "Let's go say hello to Richard."

"Actually, he asked if I would apologize to you," Carol said. "He had to take the call from the town council. In the meantime, let's get you both a drink and make the introductions. Wine or something harder?" she asked Damon as she led them towards the kitchen area tucked away behind a stone wall on the opposite side of the floor.

As far as this house was concerned, it was a small kitchen designed to service parties. In fact, it put most residential kitchens to shame, and the main kitchen for this ten-thousand-square-foot dream house was on the first floor, decked out with more commercial appliances than most five-star restaurants.

Once Damon and Elena were armed with bourbon for him and wine for her, they headed back into the main area to do the mingle thing. She was a little nervous when she caught Bonnie looking at her and Damon.

Damon was cool and confident with everyone he met. He greeted Enzo enthusiastically and once again thanked him for the opportunity to work on such a cutting-edge project.

"You should thank Elena for allowing you to work with us," Bonnie said dryly.

"Enzo is the one who recommends Damon actually. I usually respect my employees' ideas and suggestions," Elena laughed as she said it, hoping to lighten the moment. "Of course, Damon's work has been impressive."

"You can come to me anytime with regards to the project," Enzo added. "Or Bonnie, for that matter."

"Mr Salvatore can come to me as well if there is any problem. I'm more than happy to help."

Elena turned and froze as she saw her uncle and Richard approached them from behind.

"Hello, Damon," Richard said and held out his hand to Damon, who shook it warmly. "I'm glad you are part of this project."

"So I am." Damon flashed a quick smile in Elena's direction. "I'm looking forward to it."

"I thought you would decline our offer," John said as he shot a glance at Elena. "I'm curious. What changed your mind?"

Damon shifted just enough to look at Elena. "As I said, Miss Gilbert is very persuasive. And perhaps the stars are just better aligned this time around."

John looked at him as if considering. "I hope you find that working with Gilbert International is a mutually beneficial arrangement. We don't bring people into our organization lightly. Your talent must have said a lot." He turned his attention to Elena. "I bet Elena must think highly of your work."

Damon smiled at Elena. "In that case, it looks like I have Miss Gilbert to thank for a lot of things. The Resort at Dunham Lake is just one of many."

When Carol joined the group to ask who needed drink refills, Elena offered to take care of that so Carol could mingle. Mostly she just wanted to get away from John for a moment.

She was in the kitchen opening a fresh bottle of wine when Bonnie entered and added some ice to her glass. "It is a good thing you find someone to replace Wes since he almost blew up the entire project but I wonder what his real story is."

"Wes? Honestly, I'm so annoyed with the man I don't even care."

"I'm curious," Bonnie admitted. "But I wasn't talking about Wes. I mean Damon."

"His real story?" Elena had lost the thread of the conversation.

"It is just so strange. I mean, he was adamant that he wouldn't work for Gilbert International. And now suddenly he is all eager?" Bonnie narrowed her eyes. "Unless you agree with his terms."

"There are no more deals."

"Really?"

Elena nodded. "No deal. No game. No conditions."

Bonnie didn't look convince.

"Trust me, he wasn't easy to convince," Elena reassured her. "He wants to be part of this project."

"Which is also strange," Bonnie said, "since he has had his eye on the Dunham project from the beginning."

Elena put down the bottle of wine. "What are you talking about?"

"I was pulling some permits last week and talking with one of my friends in the county clerk's office. She mentioned that he had pulled some surveys for the lake."

"Why on earth were you talking to her about our project?"

Bonnie shrugged. "It was just a casual talk, nothing serious."

"Last week we hadn't even offered him the job."

"That is my point," Bonnie said. "I think your Damon was playing hard to get. What I'm wondering is why."

Since Elena didn't know the answer, she said nothing, and when Bonnie took her drink and left, she took a moment to just breathe deep. What Bonnie was saying made no sense. What the hell kind of game had Damon been playing?

When she returned to the main area, John had moved on, and Richard and Damon were talking alone.

Damon looked so damn attractive. Dark hair. Classic bone structure. Hollywood-handsome good looks.

He was the kind of man who could bring a woman to her knees, and there was no doubt about that as far as Elena was concerned.

"It is like looking at the cover of a damn men's magazine, isn't it?" Enzo said, as he took one of the glasses of wine from her hand and downed it in a single gulp. "I spoke with your architect earlier. I think he will do good. And I'm glad the two of you got over whatever hurdle needed to be leaped."

"Me, too." Her cheeks heated as she thought just how enthusiastically they topped that particular hurdle.

Enzo laughed, and her blush burned hotter.

"Don't worry," he said. "Your secret is safe with me. But you be careful, too."

"Careful?"

"Damon Salvatore is not a man with a one-woman reputation, and you have never struck me as the kind of woman to put up with a player."

"No, he is not—" But she stopped. The truth was, Enzo was right about Damon's reputation. And although she asked him about it, she had no way of knowing what really went on with those women.

"Just be careful," Enzo repeated. And this time, all she did was nodded.

Elena headed to the kitchen to get a replacement for the wine Enzo took, and when she returned, Meredith Fell had joined the men.

"Elena!" Meredith said, giving her an air kiss on both cheeks. "It is wonderful to see you."

"It is good to see you," she said. "I heard the project in Richmond is going well. The client is very happy with your design."

"You have certainly done an amazing job here," Damon said. "This home is stunning."

"Thanks," Meredith said. "Of course, Richard is a man with a lot of opinions. Several of the design features originated with him."

"She is saying that I'm a nightmare to work with," Richard said.

"I'm not. I appreciate the feedback. This is one of my most seamless projects."

"This floor is truly unique," Damon said. "A man in your position must do a lot of entertaining."

"Actually, that was never my plan. Until recently, I rarely entertained in my own home," Richard explained. "But Carol thinks it is a good idea to have an entertainment area just in case."

"Must be nice when family is over, though."

"To be honest, neither of us have large families. Carol's family is in Texas and majority of the Lockwood families have moved out of Mystic Falls. I certainly hope Tyler will get married soon and have more kids. A man his age ought to be married. Hell, I was married at his age."

Everyone chuckled.

"Times change," Damon said. "Things are different now."

Carol turned to Damon. "What about you, Damon? You willing to get married?"

Elena frowned, not sure if Carol was asking questions with a purpose or just making small talk.

An awkward silence hung for a moment before Damon spoke. "The subject of marriage did cross my mind but I don't think this is the right time to discuss about it."

Carol looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry on your personal business."

"Don't worry about it," Damon said. In what Elena assumed was an attempt to change the subject, he turned back to Meredith "I'm guessing you work exclusively on residential projects?"

"Primarily, but not exclusively," Meredith said. "I have been doing a bit of networking, trying to expand my presence in the commercial market, but I certainly haven't made the kind of inroads there that you have. You have quite a portfolio, Damon."

"While I understand the desire to branch out, I have to say that you excel in what you do. I meant what I said about this house. It is a gem."

"Coming from you, that is high praise. Do you mind if I ask your opinion on a few things?"

"Not at all."

"Looks like they are going to talk shop," Carol said to Elena. "Do you want to help me with some canapé in the kitchen?"

"Of course not."

As Damon and Meredith headed to the balcony to discuss foundations or arches or some other architectural details, she followed Carol into the kitchen.

Carol pulled out a tray of cured salmon canapé. "You are serious about Damon or are you just having yourself some fun?"

Elena went still. This was going to be worse than she imagined. For an instant she was afraid the thick air would suffocate her. With an effort of will, she managed to resist the temptation to flee back outside.

"I beg your pardon?"

Carol hesitated and then probed further. "You know what I'm talking about, Elena. You two had history."

"I think this conversation is getting a bit personal."

There was a brief silence before Carol spoke again. "I shouldn't pry on your personal life, Elena. But I know your parents well. Umm, did they know about Damon taking up this project?"

"We are talking about a big project now and we need Damon. Just because we are seeing a lot of each other—"

"Seeing each other? Huh. Appears to me that the two of you are doing a heck of a lot more than just looking' at each other."

Elena jumped. She turned and saw John standing at the doorway.

John gave a muffled snort. "You think no one would notice Damon appeared at your house first thing in the morning? Shoot and damn, you aren't even trying to keep things a secret."

"You know as well as I do that you can't control gossip here in Mystic Falls." From out of nowhere, anger surged through her. "I'm an adult here. I know how to deal with my private life."

"We are talking about Damon Salvatore." John planted his hands on his hips. "He is dangerous."

"Damon won't hurt me," she said through her teeth.

"He is a Salvatore. The Salvatore men are slick and dangerous."

"That's ridiculous. Damon is different…"

John mocked. "How different? He is born a Salvatore. You are going to have to take my word for it."

She had to get out of here. She was ready to explode. "Let me make something clear. I know what I'm doing now. We need someone like Damon in the project. I'm doing what is best for Gilbert International."

John's mouth opened again but this time no words emerged.

She turned and walked back into the party.

x x x

"A campervan?"

Elena was standing at the driveway of the Salvatore boarding house looking at a totally awesome cream-colored campervan and wondering what the hell they were doing.

"Why do we need a campervan?" she asked, but Damon only shrugged and continued doing whatever it was he was doing on his phone. "A SUV will bring us to the lake."

She expected a reply, but he said nothing. "Are you even listening to me?"

He looked up. "I'm checking the weather and road condition," he said, holding up the phone. "I need to find a place to park the campervan."

Elena crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him, trying to decide if she was irritated or amused. She settled on amused. "Why exactly are we taking a campervan to the island? Where did you get it from?"

"Not someone's campervan," he said. "My campervan. And because I wanted to show her to you."

"You have a campervan?"

"I do." He pointed to the campervan they were standing beside. "There she is."

"And you are a comedian, too," she said, but the truth was, she was kind of delighted. She had never been on a campervan, and this was turning into a bit of an adventure. "Are you sure you want to drive a campervan to Dunham Lake?"

"Yes."

Elena glanced at the sky. "By the time we get there, we will still have plenty of time. Unless there is delay because of weather or road condition."

"Good thing my bedroom is on board. We can start fresh in the morning if we are late." Damon grinned, and looked so much like a delighted boy that she couldn't help but laugh.

"Fine. You win. Tell me all about her." Elena paused. "Wait. Bedroom? You live here?"

"It seemed prudent. Especially when I have travelled to different sites for my projects. You can't always get a hotel or motel easily in some places."

"You made a good decision."

"I thought so."

She let her eyes drifted over the campervan. "When did you buy it?"

"A few years back but she is still in a good condition." Damon opened the door on the passenger side. "Come on. Let's get moving. I really do want to see our lake."

They drove in silence for almost half an hour. Elena had actually enjoyed the silence where she could take note of the scenery. She eased back in her seat and stretched her long legs as far as they would go in the tight confines of the campervan.

"Isn't it a gorgeous day?" Elena tipped her head back to gaze in delight at the lacy white clouds drifting across the brilliant blue sky.

He smiled while keeping his attention on the road. "Yes, it is."

His smile did crazy things to her heartbeat. She wanted to lift her hand and lay it against his hard jaw and to trace the line of those sensual lips. His shirt collar was open at the throat, and she wanted to touch the dark hairs that curled crisply just above the deep V of the third button. Even the scent of his spicy cologne was teasing her senses, inviting her closer

The breeze through the open car window lightly teased his thick, dark-brown, almost black hair. Although it was cut and styled to lie flat at the sides, it was just long enough at the nape to brush his shirt collar—just long enough, Elena reflected wistfully, for a woman's fingers to slide through it. Her fingers. Tearing her eyes from his profile, she pulled her sunglasses down onto her nose and turned her head to gaze at the passing scenery on the road, only dimly aware when the endless suburbs gave way to long stretches of open countryside. Damon positively radiated bold sexual expertise and confident virility. Even now she was disturbingly aware of the length of his hard, muscled thigh only inches away from hers and the way his powerful shoulders seemed to dwarf her. Everything about the way he looked, and the way he looked at her, warned her that he could be very dangerous to her peace of mind.

Dangerous? Elena stole a swift, apprehensive glance at his chiselled profile, and her features relaxed into a faint smile. Everyone always said she was so intelligent, so sensible, yet here she was, sitting next to Damon in his campervan. Her parents and John might think Damon was dangerous but she knew Damon would never hurt her.

The next two hours passed in a delightful blur. The campervan ate up the miles, sending a balmy breeze to touch their faces and ruffle their hair, and they talked companionably about everything and nothing.

Damon stopped at a little grocery store in a small town which was about half an hour drive from their destination of Dunham Lake. When he came out, Elena saw that he was carrying two cups of coffee and a plastic bag. A few miles down the road, he pulled over at a roadside picnic table, and they both got out.

He handed a cup of coffee to her. "I got you some sandwiches if you are hungry." He leaned his hip casually on the picnic table behind him.

Elena took a sip of her coffee. "I'm not hungry."

Damon smiled at her—one of those warm, engaging smiles that quickened her heartbeat. "Did you know that you are very relaxing company?" he asked softly.

She laughed. "Well, thank you, Mr Salvatore. I will try not to put you to sleep before we get to Dunham Lake."

"You can put me to sleep after we get there," he said suggestively.

She swallowed hard. "We have work to do, Damon."

"Believe me, this is as important as work." His voice deepened with sensuality. "As a matter of fact, there is something I have wanted to do ever since I saw you this morning at my driveway."

Even in her state of heightened nervousness, Elena knew he intended to kiss her. He took her coffee from her limp fingers and calmly put it on the picnic table beside him, then he reached out and drew her purposefully between his legs. Her hip brushed the inside of his hard thigh, sending shock waves of alarmed awareness through her entire nervous system. His hands slid up her arms to gently imprison her shoulders. In helpless anticipation she watched his firm, sensual lips slowly descend to hers.

His mouth covered hers, moving and probing in a kiss that was lazily coaxing, yet breathtakingly insistent. Elena tried desperately to hold on to her fleeing sanity, but the moment his tongue slid against her lips she lost the battle.

With a smothered moan, she leaned into him and let him part her lips. His response was instantaneous. His arms tightened around her, imprisoning her against his chest, while his mouth opened hungrily, his tongue plunging into her mouth and stroking against hers. Her body arched against him, and her hands lifted compulsively to caress his neck and slide through the soft hair at his nape as she eagerly responded to his hungry mouth.

By the time Elena finally lifted his head, Elena felt branded by that kiss, permanently marked as his possession. Trembling with inner turmoil, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. His warm lips drifted across her cheek to her temple, trailing downward until his teeth playfully nipped her earlobe. He chuckled huskily against her ear, "I think if you continue to kiss me like this, we are going to be very late getting to Dunham Lake."

She leaned back in his arms and looked up at him. The blue eyes gazing back at her were heavy-lidded and smouldering with passion.

"You kissed me first," she protested. "You can't blame everything on me."

He reached up and firmly pulled her sunglasses down onto her nose. "I don't blame you for kissing me. I want you to kiss me," he said with grim humour. "But right now, we have to get moving."

Then he took her arm and led her toward the car.

It was almost noon when they arrived. They got out of the car and Elena pointed to the same path she and Wes Maxfield had followed previously. "So I figure we can head that way and follow the lake's perimeter. It is not huge, but it is not tiny. It takes about three hours to make the full circle, more if we are stopping to take notes or photos."

She wished she had her camera, but Damon had brought a pocket-sized one that had a decent zoom lens, so at least they would be able to document areas to accompany his notes.

Elena was thinking about that—and wondering if she needed to get an extra notepad—when Damon took her hand and tugged her to him, then drew her into a long, intense, bone-melting kiss. One hand was twined in her hair, the other sliding down the waistband of her pants. He cupped her ass, then squeezed as his tongue teased her, and she knew that she was already desperately wet.

She broke away, breathing hard. "Not exactly workplace behaviour, Mr Salvatore."

"And there won't be a repeat performance, Miss Gilbert. But I thought a long kiss to tide us over was in order. After all, if I'm not going to get my From Here to Eternity moment in the cold Dunham Lake, I at least wanted a kiss under the sun."

She couldn't help but laugh. She had told him they needed to focus on work, especially since they had to be back in the office tomorrow. Apparently he took her admonition to heart.

"Then again, I'm not sure it is worth trying to keep a professional demeanour," Elena said. She pointed to the security camera that had surely captured that moment.

"Never fear. Your reputation is safe with me." He went to the pole, found the control that raised and lowered the camera, then opened the weatherproof housing and pulled out a memory disk.

"Damon!"

"Problem?" He flashed her an innocent look, and Elena did her best to appear stern.

"You realize that is just a backup? The feed goes live back to the security office at Gilbert International."

He just shrugged and grinned and tucked the disk in his pocket. "Souvenir," he said. "I think I will pull that image and make it my screen saver."

She laughed, but pointed to the pole and the camera. "You must have been a handful when you were a kid."

He chuckled. "You have no idea." He glanced around their surroundings. "I'm glad I have been handed this exceptional canvas." He swept his arm out to encompass the lake. "Thank you," he said, and the genuine sincerity in his voice made her knees went a little weak.

"I'm glad you have taken up this project," she confessed. "Wes was pathetic."

"Hell yeah, he was," Damon said, and they laughed.

He nodded towards the path. "Show me our lake."

 _Our lake_.

Elena liked the sound of that.

As it turned out, she was right about it taking more than three hours to walk the circumference. Instead, it took four. They spent the time discussing her vision for the resort. The section of the land carved out for couples, the area devoted to families. How the various recreational activities would be woven in. The number and type of restaurants she anticipated.

"This resort will be family oriented, but there should still be some areas that are private. I don't want someone on a honeymoon or anniversary to feel this isn't the place for them."

They had made it back almost full circle, and they were almost back to the site where Damon parked his campervan. "Maybe one exclusive area with upscale bungalows facing the lake. This would be perfect," he said. "Let me show you."

He pulled out a notebook and leaned on a nearby tree. Elena watched his face and the sketch that was coming to life on the paper. He was completely absorbed, lost in this new world that right now lived only in his imagination.

His intensity was compelling, and she stood beside him, then watched, enraptured, as he continued to put his vision on paper. Even as a sketch, it captured everything she had told him she wanted and yet made it bolder, better.

Damon paused and looked up, his eyes just a little glazed as if he has forgotten where he is. When he focused on her, though, his eyes cleared, and he lifted a brow in question.

"Perfect," she said. And when she pressed a kiss to his cheek, Elena hoped he understood that she meant so much more than the resort.

"Elena." He reached out to touch her cheek. Just then her stomach growled ominously. Damon chuckled, "Are you hungry?"

"Yes. In fact, I'm starving."

"I think we need to treat ourselves."

"I know there is a good place for sandwiches and a cold drink around here. I will buy you lunch."

He laughed. "That's the best offer I have had all day."

The rain hit just as they were finishing their late lunch. Elena was very glad that Damon had insisted on driving the short distance to the cafe. When the weather turned bad in the Dunham Lake, it did so in a hurry. It would have been a very wet walk back to the campervan.

"Going to be a bad one," the waiter said when he returned with the bill. "They are saying the rain will last until late tonight."

Damon pulled out a few notes from his wallet, got to his feet and helped Elena out of her chair.

"Let's get out of here," he said.

Outside in the wet afternoon, Damon opened the passenger-side door of the campervan. Elena bounced up onto the seat. She watched him walk around the front of the vehicle, the collar of his jacket pulled up against the rain. The downfall plastered his dark hair to his head. When he got behind the wheel, he brought a rush of the wild energy of the storm with him. It felt good to be here with him in the intimate confines of the campervan, she thought. Not just pleasant or comfortable. It was exciting, thrilling and, yes, a little dangerous.

He fired up the engine and drove away from the shop. "I'm glad we take the campervan instead of a SUV or a jeep."

Elena watched the rain beat a steady tattoo on the windshield. "I think it will be difficult to drive all the way back to Mystic Falls."

"Don't worry. I'm prepared to stay here overnight anyway." He kept his attention on the road. "There is a small bathroom in this campervan and I have some can food in the fridge. We will survive."

Elena looked at herself. "But I don't have any clothes to change."

"I've got a spare T–shirt," he said.

"Thank you." She looked relieved. "I will take it."

It was still raining heavily by the time Damon parked the campervan near the lake. Elena couldn't deny that she was thrilled. She was in Damon's campervan. When she emerged from the bathroom, she was wearing his T–shirt. It was much too big for her. The hem fell to her thighs. But she looked sexy as hell. And, frankly, the only thing he wanted right now was Elena.

"I like seeing you in my T-shirt." He grinned. "I like it a lot. But I think I might like it even better when you are out of the shirt." The campervan was small, so he was standing next to her in two steps.

He put his hands around her shoulders. Beneath the fabric of the black T–shirt, she felt sleek and warm and soft and like all that was feminine. Her scent clouded his senses, intoxicating and compelling. He tightened his grip on her and drew her to him. She did not resist.

Her lips were slightly parted. He plunged his fingers into her hair and captured her mouth. His lips were warm and exquisitely gentle at first, tasting and shaping hers. And then they slowly parted, and his tongue began to explore her mouth with a languorous hunger that drove Elena mad with pleasure.

She arched against him, her hands gliding over his bare chest, and he lifted his head. His flaming blue eyes burned into hers, seeing his own desire reflected in their depths. He drew a laboured breath, visibly trying to slow his passion, and lost the battle. "God, I want you!" he said fiercely, and his demanding lips crushed down on hers, his tongue parting her lips and driving into her mouth in a kiss that sent fire exploding through her body.

He tugged off the T–shirt she wore and swept her up into his arms, his mouth devouring hers while he moved her onto the bed, following her down and covering her with his body

His hands cupped her naked breasts, arousing her nipples into aching tightness before his lips closed on them. His lips came back to hers, and he opened her mouth hungrily with his own, his knowledgeable hands exploring and exciting and tormenting her, bathing her senses in a kaleidoscope of fiercely erotic pleasures that sent hot need pulsing through every nerve in Elena's throbbing body.

A raging thrill flashed across her senses. She curled her leg around his thigh. The fabric of his trousers was rough against her skin. When she thrust one hand beneath his T-shirt, she discovered that his back was already damp with sweat.

He stood and stripped off his T-shirt, trousers and briefs. When he came back to her, she made a place for him between her legs and wrapped him close.

He thrust into her. The thrilling shock of the heavy, deep invasion was almost too much. But even as she caught her breath, her body was already adjusting, her core clenching around him. She held him prisoner, demanding that he deliver on the sexual promises he had made.

He drove slowly in and out of her until she was mindless with need, until she could not abide the sweet, piercing tension for another instant.

Her release surged through her in waves. The experience was shattering, dazzling—unlike anything she had ever known. She opened her lips on a scream of astonishment and wonder. Damon covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her cries, even as he rocked forward.

His climax powered through both of them.

She could have sworn that for a timeless, joyful moment, the currents of their auras seemed to resonate together. The sensation was at once unnerving and breathtakingly intimate. It was as if for a split second they were looking into each other's very souls.

I love you, Damon Salvatore, she thought. I have never stopped loving you.


	12. Chapter 12

_MYSTIC FALLS 2007_

"I like sleeping next to you," Elena whispered, as she woke in Damon's arms to the soft pre-dawn glow filling the sky outside the windows.

"I'm glad." He stretched, coming easily awake. His fingers stroked her hair. "I like the idea of waking up with you lying next to me."

"Me too," she said softly. "I want you in my bed every night."

"You know I can't. We can't."

"I know."

She spoke in a whisper, her voice so low she wasn't actually certain she was making sound. She knew her parents wouldn't be thrilled if they found out her relationship with Damon but the truth was she felt very comfortable and warm with Damon. And, more important, she knew that Damon was the only one who could make her feel alive.

She wanted to know more about him because she cared about him. And she knew she was already falling in love with him. Damon, Elena noticed, was extremely evasive when it came to actually talking about himself, but positively insatiable when it came to probing into her background. All she learned about him was that his family was originated from Italy and his mother was an artist but she had given up her career to look after her family when she married Giuseppe. Damon had a younger brother, Stefan who was studying in Oxford.

She glanced at him. "Damon, why are you so uncommunicative about yourself?"

"Uncommunicative?" he asked. "I have been talking a lot."

"But not about anything really personal. Tell me more about your family and you."

Damon didn't say a word. Instead, he sat up, and then pulled her onto his lap. She leaned in close to him and sighed. "You aren't going to tell me, are you?"

"There isn't much more to tell you."

"How many people have you truly let in?"

He didn't answer.

Elena reached out and gently held his hand. "You and I…we have something. Let me see you. Let me see what you are."

"It is hard putting up with me. The real me."

"That's not true."

"Oh, I am. I am an absolute bastard."

"No, you are not," she protested.

"You say you have wanted me for so long, but I don't think you are seeing the person you think you are seeing."

"No. I do. I see you. I see what you are."

"What am I?" Damon asked, hating how small and insecure his voice sounded, but he had to know. Had to hear.

"Handsome, vibrant, smart. You are loyal. You are kind. And though you may not always be correct, you always do what you think is right. And," she added with a mischievous grin. "It turns out that you are quite talented in bed."

At that, Damon laughed out loud.

Elena sat up straight so that she could see his face better. "I know you are not a bad guy."

He met her eyes and held them. He smiled, just a little, and then he laid his head back and closed his eyes. She settled against him. Even though it was still ridiculously early, she knew that sleep would elude her. She wasn't yet awake, but at the same time she was full of energy.

Damon turned his head towards her, his eyes barely open.

"What you said just now about me was definitely a gross exaggeration," he said. "But I liked it. And, in case you are interested," he added, his voice turning husky, "no one has ever told me that before."

She waited for him to say more, but he just turned his head back and closed his eyes again.

Elena thought of what Matt and her parents had said—about how the Salvatores had secrets. Damon had secrets. His own, and those he kept for others.

She might have guessed at some of his secrets, but as she looked at Damon resting peacefully beside her, she had to acknowledge that she didn't really know the man at all.

But, damn it, she wanted to. She so very desperately wanted to.

Elena woke again a few hours later to the incredible scent of coffee and the even more incredible man smiling down at her.

"Hey," Damon said, passing her the mug. "Drink up. Get dressed. We need to get going."

She blinked at him. "Going? Where?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes," she said, without hesitation.

"Then you will see when we get there."

She took a long sip of coffee and felt life returning. "Do I have time for a shower?"

"A quick one," he said.

"Do I have time for a shower with you?"

He laughed. "That wouldn't be quick." He leaned over and kissed her, long and deep and so scrumptious it curled through her, setting her just a little bit on fire. Yeah, Elena thought. It wouldn't be quick at all. "Now go," he said, taking the mug and then tugging the sheet off her as she squealed and scrambled out of bed.

He patted her ass as she hurried by, and she paused long enough to shoot him a saucy grin. "Naked and soapy," she said. "But I guess you are going to miss it all."

"Vixen," he said, and then laughed.

Damon's ensuite bathroom was absolutely stunning. The walls were a combination of dark teak and white marble with pinkish veins that gave the room a classical yet slightly funky feel. The shower stall was huge and had a line of showerheads descending from floor to ceiling, and two other lines arching out for almost 360 degree coverage. Teak benches lined two walls of the stall, and except for the glass door and one glass wall, the walls were made up of that marble Elena loved so much.

The glass wall looked in on the sauna that was positioned beside the shower, and next to that was a steam room. Adding to the spa-like theme, there was a giant whirlpool tub, an entertainment centre with the television hidden behind the huge mirror, and a beverage centre, complete with a carbonated water dispenser and a wine fridge.

When you also considered the dressing-room-style closet—which would comfortably house a family of five easily—the bathroom crossed the line from freaking awesome to fantastic.

The only thing what would make it better was if Damon was with me, but if time was an issue she had to concede that it was probably for the best that he had declined her offer.

Still…he was on her mind as Elena turned on the ceiling-mounted rain-shower head, then brushed her teeth using Damon's toothbrush while she waited for the water temperature to adjust. He was even more in her thoughts when she stepped into the warm, wet spray.

She tilted her face up, letting the water run over her skin and soak her hair. There was a shampoo dispenser in the wall, and she put some into her hand, and then rubbed it over her head. Her hair was long enough that it took a while to soap it up well, and even longer to thoroughly rinse it. She closed her eyes and let the water fall onto her face and then sluice down her body in warm trails.

Elena didn't hear Damon come in, but even before he touched her she knew he was there. Maybe it was a shift in the ambient noise. Maybe there was a change in the light. Or maybe she was just attuned to his presence, connected to him now as she had never been to anyone before.

All she knew was that she felt no surprise when he pressed up behind her, his erection teasing her rear as his hands cupped her breasts.

Neither of them said a word, but Elena leaned back as Damon stroked her, his strong hands playing with her breasts, his fingers teasing her nipples. He trailed one hand down her belly to find her slick and wet and ready. His fingers stroked her, filling her, and finding her sensitive clit, and she gasped as he brushed his finger over it, sending ripples of warmth coursing through her.

His fingers played with her, moving slowly and sensually in teasing strokes designed to drive her wild, and he kept it up with minute attention until she knew that it was a good thing he was holding her upright, because her legs felt so weak she knew she would collapse if he even thought about letting go.

She was so close to release that she actually whimpered when he pulled his hand away, but he wasn't done with her. He moved her forward, bending her at the waist and putting her hands on the wall. Still, he said nothing, and Elena smiled as she stood there, her hands on the warm stone, her rear pressed up against him. Damon stroked her back, his hands sliding down either side of her until he reached her hips. He used his knee to ease her legs slightly wider, and then—as she closed her eyes in sweet anticipation—he slid his cock deep into her.

She was so wet, so damn ready, that he entered easily, her muscles contracting to draw him in farther, as if he were part of her. As if in the short time since he had last been inside her she had lost a part of herself. His thrusts were deep and powerful and demanding, and she could feel his body tense as he got closer and closer.

She took one hand off the wall, then slid it between her legs, finding her clit and stroking it faster and faster in time with his thrusts. Water sluiced over them, but she felt none of it. All she could feel was her hand upon her clit and Damon's cock inside her. She was reduced to nothing but the sensation of sex, of coming release, of the electricity that now concentrated between her legs like a single vibrant point that was growing and throbbing and threatening to burst free, as if there was no way that so much pleasure could be held enclosed in anything smaller than the universe.

And then Damon was coming, his hands tight on her hips as he tugged her even closer, their bodies slapping wildly together as he emptied himself inside her, taking her to her own release as that vibrant point exploded out, making her entire body sing and tingle, all the way to her toes and her fingertips.

She pressed both hands against the wall again, gasping and spent. She wasn't certain she could ever move again. Then Damon pulled out of her and he turned her around and she moved obediently, draping her arms around his neck and pressing her head to his chest as he used a washcloth to gently soap her up and then adjusted the rest of the showerheads to rinse them both completely.

"I thought you said we would be late," Elena murmured when he was done ministering to her.

"I imagine we will," he said. He kissed her so soundly that her body fired all over again. "It was worth it."

Yeah, Elena thought as she clung tight to him, it was.

She still felt boneless when they emerged from the shower moments later. She sank down beside him on the upholstered bench, her head leaning against his shoulder. "You have melted me," she said, though there wasn't a hint of complaint in her voice.

"You managed to destroy me pretty completely, too," he said. "Should we blow off my surprise?"

"Is it a good surprise?"

"The best," he said.

"Then no." With effort, Elena forced herself to stand, and then held out a hand to help him rise. "But I warn you. My standards are high. If it is not the best, there will be consequences."

"I will keep that in mind," he said seriously.

Since Elena didn't have any clothes with her, she had decided to wear her grey lace tank top paired with the striped skirt again. Damon swore she looked beautiful. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail with a few loose tendrils framing her face, then swiped on some mascara and lip gloss and called herself ready.

"Perfect," Damon said. He wore jeans and loafers now, with a black leather jacket over a simple white T-shirt. "You look stunning."

She went to him and took his hand, then rose up to brush a kiss over his lips. "And you look gorgeous too."

They headed out of the house and Damon led her to his Camaro.

"Where are we going?" Elena asked.

"It' is reasonably close."

"Close," she said, running various options through her head.

"Don't even try. I will only be disappointed if you manage to guess."

Elena laughed. "Fair enough," she said as got inside the car. Damon closed the door for her, walked around and got in on the driver's side.

"One thing I forgot to mention," he said, as he settled in his seat. "I would like you to put this on." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black sleep mask with an elastic strap.

Elena peered at it dubiously. "Seriously?"

He just looked at her, not answering.

"Damon!"

"Hey, if you don't want to…" He trailed off, then opened his door.

She goggled at him. "What are you doing?"

"Rules are rules."

"Fine," Elena said, snatching it out of his hands. She slid the mask on over her eyes. And in the moment before the world disappeared from sight, she was pretty sure that she caught Damon's smirk.

"Better?" she asked.

"Much," Damon said.

"And you are not going to even give me a clue?"

"Not even," he said.

"I know this area pretty well. I could probably count stops and turns. I have watched enough espionage thrillers to know how that works."

He laughed. "Good point. But rules are rules."

By the time the car finally pulled up in front of their mystery destination, Elena was very curious and excited. She didn't know where they were going, but she was looking forward to it.

"You aren't going to give me a clue, are you?" she asked, as she stood blindfolded on what she assumed was a sidewalk. "You definitely want to make it a surprise."

Damon's arm held on to her elbow as he guided her forward. "You are right. You know me too well."

"Hmm," Elena said, adding a hint of censure to her tone.

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy it."

She frowned. "I do enjoy it but I would still want to know where we are going."

He burst out laughing. "Don't ever change, princess."

Elena wanted desperately to peel the blindfold off and look at him. "I'm always curious," she said. "It does scare me when I don't know where I'm going."

"That was the point, Elena. You were with me. You can do anything with me." He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear. "Anything. Because I will always be there. I will always catch you if you fall."

Elena didn't know what to say. He had managed to twist the moment around completely. From a casual teasing conversation, to a moment of pure intimacy.

"Damon," she said, turning blindly toward him and finding his face. She pulled him towards her for a kiss, deep and long and sweet.

When she pulled back, Damon gently stroked her cheek. "What was that for?"

"Wherever you are taking me, whatever we are doing, I know it is going to be amazing. And just in case you have me so distracted later I forget to say it, I wanted to say thank you now."

"You are welcome." He took his hand. "Are you ready to go inside?"

She nodded and let him lead the way.

"Distracted, huh?" he said as they entered a very air-conditioned room. "I can't imagine how you think I might distract you."

Elena grinned, absolutely delighted with the man, with the morning, with the whole damn world.

She knew better than to ask where they were. There was stone, not carpet, beneath her feet, and the space had an echo when they walked. It felt empty, too, and she assumed it was some sort of lobby. Her assumption was confirmed when she heard the ding of an elevator. A moment later, they stepped onto one. And ascended, higher and higher and higher still.

"We are going up a building," she said. "Am I correct?"

"Be patient, princess," he said.

Elena wanted to scream with frustration because she had absolutely no idea what he had up his sleeve, but she also didn't want to give him the satisfaction. So she stayed calm, cool, and collected. And kept her curiosity soundly buried.

Finally, the elevator slid to a smooth stop. The doors opened, and she heard a few people moving around, but not too many. She heard the clattering of dishes and—happily—she caught the scent of coffee.

"Know where we are?"

"One of the clubs? A breakfast buffet?"

"Not a bad guess," he said. "But no."

"Well, I give up."

"That is okay. You don't have long to wait now."

She had been walking carefully, his hand on her elbow, and now he had her turn just slightly. The floor beneath them changed texture, and she heard the scrape of a chair.

"Here you go," he said, helping her sit. He stood behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He bent over, and his breath rippled her hair as he asked, so very gently, "Are you ready?"

"I think so." Elena didn't have a clue what she was supposed to be ready for, and Damon clearly expected her to be astounded. For a moment she feared that her reaction would disappoint him, but the fear faded quickly. If anyone knew how to overwhelm, it was Damon. "Yes," she said more firmly. "I'm ready."

"Close your eyes."

She did, effectively blocking out the tiny bits of light that had crept in under the mask. His fingers brushed her hair as he gripped the elastic and pulled the mask up and off her face. "All right," he said softly. "Open your eyes, princess."

She did, and then gasped in awe and wonder. "Damon, oh, my god!"

She had no memory of moving, but she must have, because now she was standing, and all of Mystic Falls was spread out beneath and around her, and her heart was pounding because they were suspended above the town and all she could think was that there was no place more perfect that he could have brought her. "It is the Skydeck," she said. "You brought me to the Empire."

"I did," Damon said, moving to stand beside her. She had gone to the edge, and now her hands were pressed to the glass, but she wasn't looking out, she was looking down, watching the world falling away beneath their feet as they stood in this clear box that hung from the side of the Salvatore Tower.

The Salvatore Tower was the highest building in Mystic Falls and it was built by Giuseppe a few years back. It was a business and event centre located in the central of town. In addition to the Skydeck, the tower included a 300-seat theatre, a convention centre, ten bars and restaurants and also a hotel.

"Are you ready for breakfast?"

"What?" Elena asked foolishly.

He took her shoulder and gently turned her around. She saw the chair where she had originally been sitting next to a white cloth-covered table topped with dishes and a shiny silver coffeepot.

For a moment she frowned. "Breakfast? I have wanted to come here for breakfast since I learned they served, but it is always fully booked." She glanced around. "Where are the people?"

"It is always busy here," Damon said. "But I arranged catering for a private party."

"A party?" she asked, lifting a brow.

"A very small party," he said. "Will you join me for breakfast on this lovely Sunday morning, Miss Gilbert?" he asked, holding out his hand and drawing her toward him.

"Yes, Mr Salvatore. I would be delighted."

Damon held her chair out, and as she sat, she looked down at the town again. The world seemed to swirl around her, making her both dizzy and excited, making her heart swell and soar. But no matter what, she knew that she wouldn't go crashing down to earth. She was safe here. Safe on this ledge and safe with Damon.

"Thank you," Elena said. "This is incredible. More than incredible, in fact. It is perfect."

"I told you this is a surprise," he said.

"Yes," she agreed. "You did."

After a breakfast among the clouds, they spent the day like petals on the wind, soft and lazy and with no purpose other than to move and to explore the town. After breakfast on the Empire, they had walked from the Salvatore Tower all the way down to the Wickery Bridge. Elena had expected Damon to balk when she had suggested it, because most people didn't share her love of simply walking around big cities, soaking up the vibe and absorbing the energy. But Damon didn't complain, despite the fact that they walked about three miles even before their adventure truly started.

She pointed out her favourite haunts along the way, including the funky post office. "It is a gem in the middle of the town," she had said, tugging Damon to a stop and pointing at the building. She dragged him inside, ignoring his mock protests, and they stood in the centre of the building looking at the tiles and ceiling.

"Can I help you or answer any questions?" A man in uniform approached them. And Damon, with a straight face, told him they were looking for to buy some stamps. The staff actually had some decent suggestions, and they left with a handful of brochures on stamp collection. Then they continued on to Wickery Bridge.

"I don't have a favourite part of Mystic Falls," Elena had said. "But if I did, this might be it. There are trees and beautiful flowers surrounding this bridge which was built in the 1800s. How cool is that!"

They had gathered rocks to toss back into the water and drank beer at a nearby grocery store. Then they backtracked to town centre and bought hamburgers for lunch. After that, they headed to the park.

"Have you ever been to Europe?" Elena asked.

"A few times," Damon answered. "I did my master degree in Cambridge."

"I haven't. I have always wanted to, though. I want to see the Louvre and the Sistine Chapel. Have you been there?"

"Yes. Without having seen the Sistine Chapel one can form no appreciable idea of what one man is capable of achieving."

"I agree," she said. "It is a beacon of art."

"Have you ever considered studying in England?" he asked.

"England?"

He nodded. "It would be an excellent opportunity to travel around Europe if you study in England."

She looked thoughtful. "I have always wanted to go to Whitmore after I finish high school. My dad had suggested I go….." She cut herself off with a shake of her head.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. Never mind."

He reached for her hand and gave her a little tug.

"Nothing, really."

"Tell me."

Elena exhaled slowly. "My dad had suggested I go to UCLA because Matt is going to UCLA."

"But you didn't want to go."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I can't see myself with Matt anymore. If I go to UCLA, I will be giving him the idea we have a future together."

"Don't," he commanded.

"Don't what?"

"Don't even consider going to UCLA with Matt," he muttered harshly. Then his mouth opened over hers in a shattering kiss that sent her spiralling off into darkness where nothing existed except the sensual male lips locked fiercely, demandingly, to hers. His hand sank into the thick mass of hair at her nape, and his tongue plunged into her mouth, stroking and caressing hers, retreating to plunge again, until Elena instinctively gave him what he wanted. Her lips softened and began to move with his, stimulating the desire already flaming between them. Against her, Elena felt the bold evidence of his rising passion, and shudders of pleasure raced through her. Mindlessly she arched herself upward in a fevered need to please him more, and his arm tightened across her hips, pulling her even closer to his rigid thighs.

He dragged his mouth roughly across her cheek, and even his whisper was hoarse with desire. "You stay away from Matt. You are mine," he said, and pressed his lips to hers again.

Slowly the pressure of his mouth gentled and then was gone. Shivering with excitement and happiness, Elena weakly leaned her forehead against his shoulder. His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, then tightened, moving her an inch away. "Let's go."

They had left the subject of Matt and her leaving for Whitmore behind and spent the rest of the day walking hand in hand, buying soft-serve ice cream and soda to ward off the heat.

It was silly. It was fun. It was just what Elena had needed.

And after a dinner al fresco at a small Italian restaurant just outside the town, they had returned to the Salvatore boarding house. They had made love lazily in the shower, then taken a bottle of wine up to Damon's bedroom. They laid on the bed, her head on his lap, his fingers stroking her hair, and talked about their day and their lives and everything and nothing.

It was, Elena thought, the most romantic and sensual day of her life. And though she had originally been drawn to Damon's wild side, she couldn't help but fear that somehow, someway, this sweet romanticism was the part of him that was truly dangerous to her.

She was definitely in love with him. She was in love with Damon Salvatore.

x x x

Picking up her pillow, Elena happily wrapped her arms around it and hugged it to her chest, rubbing her cheek against the white material as if it was Damon's shirt. She had missed him. Damon had dropped her back to her house on Monday morning and it was only three hours ago but she had already missed him.

Her phone rang. She snatched the phone from the side table and her heart did a little butterfly flutter when she saw that it was from the number that Damon had given her over the weekend. "Hey," she said. "You called at the perfect time."

"I planned it that way, of course."

"Would I sound too desperate if I told you that anytime would be the perfect time?"

"If it is me that you are desperate for, I have no objections."

Elena giggled. "Well, then. You have found me out. What's up?"

"Tonight. Six."

"All right," she said. "I will drive."

"I will send someone to pick you up."

"I can drive to your house."

"We aren't going to my house."

"Where are we going?"

"You will know when you are there."

"Damon!"

He chuckled. "Someone will pick you up at your house at six."

"Fine. This will give me some time," she said as she glanced at her watch. "A woman needs to freshen up before a date."

"Does she? Well then, I look forward to enjoying the results of her efforts."

"Yeah," Elena said. "I bet you do."

When she hung up, she was smiling.

x x x

"Here? Seriously?" Elena peered out the window of the BMW that Damon had sent for her. They just turned into the entrance of Mystic Falls Harbour, and now they were manoeuvring their way through the slips. "Are you sure Mr Salvatore is meeting me here?"

The driver met her eyes in the rear-view mirror. "I'm pretty sure, Miss Gilbert."

"Yeah? He is meeting me on a boat?" Elena had to admit it seemed pretty Damon-like. This man constantly surprised her. And, honestly, it was pretty freaking cool. It added to the illusion that he could fly away at any moment—and that he could take her with him wherever he went.

She settled back in her seat, grinning, and watched as they passed slip after slip. She played a game with herself, trying to guess which boat was his, but each time they reached a boat that looked truly spectacular, the driver just kept on driving. She was starting to think that he had turned onto the wrong section and was just too proud to admit it, when they reached the very end.

The boat was anchored in the very last slip, and as Elena stepped out of the BMW she saw Damon on the deck wearing cargo shorts and a polo-style shirt. His hair was wind-tossed, and he looked like he had spent most of the day on the water. For all she knew, maybe he had.

"Hey you," she called, and he grinned like a boy, full of eagerness and life. "You are meeting me on a boat."

"Yes. I am meeting you on a boat." He hurried toward the ramp that was set up for easy access and met her halfway.

It was a wonder Elena didn't trip walking up the ramp she was so busy ogling the boat. It was massive, all white, and formed in sleek lines and curves that gave it a futuristic feel. She didn't know much about boats, but she knew it was huge. And she knew that it must have cost a fortune.

"Where did you get this boat?" she asked, once she had reached the deck. She had to admit that even from the small peek she'd had so far, she could see the appeal. The deck was both spacious and well appointed, with furniture designed for dining or lounging, fishing or swimming. Hell, it even had a hot tub.

"I bought it last year."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

Damon chuckled. "I said I bought it."

"This is your boat?"

"Yes, this is my boat."

"So, Mr Salvatore, what do you have planned for me?"

"A great many things," he said. "I promise you won't be disappointed."

"Oh." She swallowed, suddenly feeling very warm.

"To be fair, though," he continued, returning to the topic of the boat, "while this is technically a houseboat because you can live on it, most people would call it a yacht." He shrugged. "I don't call it, either. She's His Girl Friday to me."

Elena laughed, delighted. "I love it."

He inclined his head. "I'm glad you approve."

"Why did you buy a houseboat?"

"I suppose the thought of living on a boat played to my fantasies of being a pirate. Of taking off whenever I want. And, of course, it has all the essential compartments for smuggling my ill-gotten gains."

"Well, of course," she said lightly, even though she was wondering if he meant it. "Who would bother with a houseboat that wasn't well-equipped?"

"I knew you would understand."

He cocked his head toward the stern. Or maybe it was starboard? Elena never could keep anything nautical straight in her head. At any rate, she followed him through a wooden door into a stunning salon that resembled a high-end condo's living room. That opened onto a dining area, and beyond that she assumed there was some sort of cockpit area, but she didn't see that because Damon led her down a small staircase to the next level that consisted of only one giant stateroom. The realization didn't sit well with her, primarily because it conjured up thoughts of all the women he had undoubtedly entertained there—women who didn't come for platonic visits in which they slept in their own room.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You look pensive."

"It is an ugly rumour," Elena countered. "I never think unless I can help it."

He kissed her nose. "Or maybe you think too much."

She frowned. Because with that, she was in total agreement.

Fortunately, his phone rang, distracting him from figuring out what she had been thinking about. He glanced at the display, then looked at her. "Sorry. I need to take this. There are bathing suits in the top left drawer. Why don't you put one on and join me back on deck?"

"Sure," she said, though inside she was cursing. Apparently, she had been right. And not only did he bring women here, he brought so many that he provided clothing.

"Hey," he said as he took the call and left the room. "Talk to me."

And then he was gone and Elena was alone in the stateroom with another woman's bathing suit. Except that when she started to rummage through the drawer, she discovered that they all still had tags. She glanced toward the door, as if he was still there. As if she could somehow conjure him and, in doing so, she would understand all of his mysteries.

She picked an emerald green bikini, changed, and headed back up to the salon. Damon wasn't there, and so she continued on toward the deck in search of him.

Damon was still on the phone when she arrived, standing with his back to me as he faced the expanse of the sea. "Come on, man. You know me better than that, and I'm sure as hell not going to leave you hanging. Yeah, I'm thinking two years across the board. But we need to take care of all this bullshit now. I know it is a mess, but it is going to get messier if the rumours are true and they are coming our way. Yeah, well, we need to be sure."

He laughed. "You are such an ass. Okay, fine. Hit me with the rest of it."

Elena heard his low whistle. "This could develop into a problem. Let me plot out some options, and get back to you on this. As for all the other—what? No. You know damn well, the more volatile, the sooner I want out. Shit yeah, I'm becoming risk averse in my old age. As soon as you get close to thirty, your whole perspective changes."

He chuckled, then said a soft, "Don't give me grief. We have already talked about my reasons. I can't risk messing things up for her."

Elena frowned, feeling like a voyeur even as she tried to make sense of the one-sided conversation. She didn't think Damon realized she had come on deck, and she sure as hell didn't know who "her" was. The word seemed to hang above his head, pulsing red in some giant cartoon bubble. She didn't want to be jealous but she couldn't stop herself.

She missed some of his conversation while she was off being jealous in her head, and the next thing she knew he was beside her. "I didn't hear you come up."

"I'm very light on my feet," she quipped.

"Are you?" he asked, then pulled her to him, her right hand in his left, and his right at her back, as if they were about to waltz.

Whatever angst she had been feeling vanished. "Damon!"

Damon moved on the deck, leading her and—since she could barely ballroom dance with music, much less without—she had to give him points for avoiding her decidedly not light feet.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," she said. "But what's up?"

"What's up?"

"Like I said, I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but is the phone call related to your business? The Destiny?"

"What could it have to do with the Destiny?" he asked, which was a good point. Before Elena could concede that, though, Damon spun her around, then dipped her with a flourish. She laughed, enjoying this light-hearted side of him. Then he pulled her up and kissed her, and her bubbly mood shifted on a dime to something much more intense. She opened her mouth, her body firing immediately just as it always did around Damon. Foreplay might be fun, but she damn sure didn't need it. One touch, one look, and she was aroused. As if she was a lock and he was the only key that fit. As if they were two halves of a treasure map.

As if she had been waiting for him her whole life.

Elena pulled away, suddenly confused.

"Elena?"

She heard the concern in his voice and forced herself to smile at him. "Sorry. I think I got a little lightheaded when you dipped me."

"Sit," he said, leading her to a lounge chair. "I will go get you some water."

Damon was gone before she could protest, and she was left on the deck, feeling guilty about her lie. Because the truth was, the more she got to know Damon, the more the fantasy she had spun since at the start of summer was being shoved out by the reality of the man.

Reality.

There was a funny word.

Elena thought of the secrets that Matt had said that Damon held. She thought of the allegations that her father and John had made. She thought of the dark flashes she had seen in the alley and about Damon's own cryptic comments about being a bad person. All those elements had played to her fantasy of a dangerous bad boy staying one step ahead of the law.

Now, though. Now she wanted more than the fantasy. She wanted to see the reality of the man.

"Hey," Damon said, hurrying back onto the deck. He had a sparkling water with lime, and as he handed it to her, he knelt beside her, his free hand going to her forehead.

Elena couldn't help but laugh. "I felt dizzy," she protested. "Not feverish."

"Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to touch you," he said.

Her mouth curved into a smile. "You don't need an excuse."

"No? I'm very glad to hear that." He glanced back toward the stairs leading below. "Can I entice you with baked brie?"

"Um, yeah. I love brie," she said honestly.

"I know. I heard you mentioned it to Tyler at his house."

"And you remember that?" She was grinning like an idiot.

"I remember a lot of things. Green beans wrapped in bacon. Baked potato with no butter but tons of sour cream. And steaks medium rare."

Elena narrowed her eyes. "I thought you couldn't cook."

"For you, I'm making the effort."

She held out her hands and let him pull her to her feet. She caught him in a kiss—slow and wet and sensual. "Should I feel special, or do you cook for all the women you bring to your boat?" She was teasing—well, mostly—but his response was one-hundred-percent serious.

"I have never brought a woman to the boat."

"Oh." She trembled a little in his arms, warmed by the way he was looking at her. As if he never wanted to look away. And suddenly, Elena was lost. She didn't fully understand the effect he had on her, on her body. All she knew was that she could never have enough of him. "Damon." His name felt ripped from her. "God, Damon, I want the brie—I do. But right now, all I really want is for you to make love to me."

His mouth curved in a slow, sexy smile, and all Elena could think in that moment was that it was her smile. Right now, for however long it lasted, this man was all hers. Every hard, delicious inch of him.

Slowly, Damon traced his finger over the top band of the bikini bottoms. Elena bit her lower lip, her belly tightening and her skin prickling as she anticipated that finger dipping inside the band, then sliding lower and lower until—

He pulled his hand away, grinning when she looked accusingly at him. "Patience is a virtue, Elena. And anticipation is one hell of an aphrodisiac."

"Maybe," she said sulkily. "But in case you hadn't noticed, I don't need an aphrodisiac with you."

"That's very good to know." Damon stepped closer to her, then let his gaze rake over her. Elena tried not to react, but damn, her breasts felt heavier, her nipples tighter. And when he let his gaze linger at the junction of her thighs, her cunt tightened in response to an unfulfilled demand—because the man in front of her really wasn't touching her. "I should keep you perpetually like this," he said, his voice low and smooth. "All hot and wet and wanting me."

Elena swallowed, and she swore it was all she could do not to slide her own fingers down inside the bathing suit. "That's how I always am," she said, because he already knew it, and because there was no reason to hide anything from this man.

"I'm very glad to hear it," he said. "Especially since I feel the same way. You make me burn, Elena."

He brushed his fingertips over her shoulder, then trailed them lazily down her arm, making her shiver. And then, just as her eyes started to flutter shut, he pulled his hand away.

She blinked at him, wanting more, but he just shook his head. "I think that's enough for now," he said, his voice cocky.

"You are an asshole, Damon Salvatore. You know that, right?"

"Believe me, sweetheart, I have been called worse." Damon gave her a gentle tug. "Come on. I should start dinner."

"Maybe I should wait here. The lounge chair is pretty comfortable. I could finish what you started."

"Oh, no you don't." He took her hand and tugged her close. "I want you frustrated, baby. No touching. Your cunt belongs to me. Your orgasm belongs to me. I want every ripple of pleasure that courses through your body to come from me. Do you understand?"

Elena nodded, feeling suddenly a little unstable, and not because of the rocking of the boat. And she had to admit that although she might be sexually frustrated at that moment, there was no denying that the promise in his words made it all worthwhile.

She grabbed a terry-cloth cover-up from the arm of a lounge chair and followed him to the kitchen, though he wasted no time telling her that it was called a galley. True to his word, there was brie, and he set it out along with a selection of crackers and fruit that they nibbled on as he went about making dinner, cutting the ends off the green beans, testing the potatoes in the oven, seasoning the steaks.

Elena watched him in silence, sipping wine and wondering about all the facets of Damon Salvatore, both seen and unseen.

She wanted to know everything, and before she could talk herself out of it, she asked the question that was most on her mind. "Damon," she said. "Why do you say you are bad?"

He looked up from where he was uncorking a bottle of wine. "There are a lot of reasons," he said, and she heard the hint of caution in his voice.

"I'd like to know."

"Are you giving up on the idea of going to Whitmore?"

"What?" She shook her head, confused. "No. Why would you think so?"

Damon held her eyes for a long moment, and though Elena tried to figure out what he was thinking, she found no clue in his expression. "Never mind," he said. "It doesn't matter."

She took the glass of wine he handed her, then took a sip. She considered dropping the whole thing. He was right, after all. She would be going to Whitmore after she finished high school this year. So what did it matter if she never dug beneath that tarnish to see the man hidden inside?

Except it did matter. She wasn't entirely sure why, but it mattered a lot.

"Is it because of the kind of business your family is in?"

"You mean the Destiny?"

"I mean whatever you do that makes you a bad person."

He leaned back against the counter and took a sip of his own wine, his eyes never leaving her face. "I think I know who's been putting ideas into your head."

Elena licked her lips, suddenly unsure that she should have opened this door. "Listen, never mind. I don't want to spoil dinner."

"I haven't even put the steaks on yet. We have time." He put his wineglass down and crossed the galley so that he was opposite her across the bar. "What did Matt say?"

She considered avoiding the question, but knew Damon well enough to know that he would press. "He said that your family is into all sorts of shit. He wasn't specific."

"And you believe him." There was no emotion in his voice. No anger. No nothing. Just a question, spoken in a monotone.

"I didn't say that. All I want to know is why you'd tell me that you are bad for me."

"Because it is the truth," he said.

"Damon…"

"What?" His tone had barely changed, but somehow it was harsher now. "You want me to fill up your glass and tell you a bedtime story? Something that excites you? Something that makes you feel close to the kind of guy who can make you feel wild?"

Elena looked away, because that was what had started all of this, but now she wanted so much more.

"Something fast-paced, right? Like how a man who came all the way from Italy to Mystic Fall could turn from a nobody to someone so powerful and rich. Easy. Drugs. Stolen merchandise. Stolen cars. Whatever he could think of."

He was speaking fast, but every word was measured. As for Elena, she was holding her breath, taking in every word, understanding that he was giving her a view of the inside of the Salvatore family, and she was doing her damnedest to see the truth behind the tale he was spinning.

"The son had to carry on what his father did in order to build an empire. He got smart. He learnt how to dodge the system. How to take risks. How to do whatever he needed to do to get by, because he knew that the universe doesn't play fair." Damon was right in front of her, all heat and power and control. "He had struggled and fought and survived in a jungle because he didn't want to be eaten alive. This the real world. You want to survive, you have to be strong and powerful."

Elena looked at him but said nothing.

Damon stroked her arms as she stood there feeling exposed despite the fact that she had slipped the short-sleeved cover-up on over the tiny bathing suit. "You don't want a safe bet, Elena," he said, his voice low. "Do you?"

"No."

"You want a man who lives on the edge. That's the kind of thing that gets you hot, isn't it?" His fingers toyed with the white zipper pull at the base of her throat.

"Yes," she admitted as he pushed the cover-up off her shoulders. It fell to the floor in a puddle of white terry cloth. Damon's palms caressed her arms, sliding up and down, and it wasn't mere friction that sent the heat coursing through her.

"You want a man who is dangerous," he said, tracing his fingertip over the curve of her breasts along the outline of her bikini top.

Her breath became ragged. Her skin felt prickly. And behind that tiny scrap of material, her nipples were painfully hard.

"You want little bit of danger." His finger slipped under the material to flick her nipple, making her gasp. "You want to know that the man in your bed doesn't play by the rules." That same finger trailed down her belly to the band of bikini bottom.

Elena shifted her stance, spreading her legs a bit, and feeling her cheeks heat when she heard his soft, knowing chuckle.

"Tell me I'm right," he demanded, though he already knew it was true.

"You are right," she said.

"Tell me you want me to fuck you."

"I do." She felt the charge through her, like she was touching a live wire. She closed her eyes. "I want you, Damon. I want you to fuck me."

"Take off the top," he said.

Elena opened her eyes and found him looking not at her breasts, but at her face. Their eyes locked, and she swallowed, the force of the emotion she saw in his eyes making her weak. She reached back, then untied the string between her shoulder blades. Then she reached higher and brushed her hair aside before tugging at the bow that was the only thing now holding the top in place. She let it fall, then stood there in front of him, her breasts bare and heavy, her nipples hard and tight and practically begging for his touch.

Damon moved closer, then pressed his thumb against his mouth, making it wet before rubbing it slowly over her sensitive nipple. She felt the shock of his touch all the way through her, making her squirm as liquid pleasure pooled between her legs, warm and enticing.

He reached out, cupping her breasts in his palms, then bent to suckle her, so slowly and thoroughly that she had to reach out and grasp the back of a stool for fear that she would collapse to the ground.

When he pulled back, Elena felt the chill of the air on her damp breasts and saw his soft smile of satisfaction. She dragged her teeth over her lower lip, wondering where he would touch her next.

She wasn't surprised when he told her to drop her bikini bottom. She did without hesitation, and she saw the heat flare in his eyes. She saw, too, the bulge at the front of his shorts.

He knelt in front of her, then ran his fingertip down her pubis. She was bare, every fold visible and swollen with desire. She was sensitive—so damned sensitive, and when he bent close and blew a soft stream of air across her clit, she thought she would come right then.

"That's my girl," he said. "I love looking at you." He leaned closer, then slowly licked her along her slit all the way up to her belly button, the sensation so surprising and erotic that she cried out, unable to hold back either the sound or the shimmers of pleasure that shook her body.

Damon stood, and Elena wanted to scream with protest. She wanted more. She wanted his tongue on her, his fingers stroking her, his cock inside her. She wanted it all right then, all at once. She wanted to be so overwhelmed with sensation that she lost herself, and floated away in a haze that was only Damon.

But Damon wasn't moving that fast. He was doling out pleasure, and as much as Elena wanted the assault, she had to admit that this was fine, too.

He held out his hand for her, then led her toward the stairs. "Where are we going?"

"The deck," he said, and although she considered protesting—what if there were other people around?—she held her tongue. She was pretty sure they were alone. And even if they weren't, she couldn't deny the excitement that came from the possibility of being watched.

"It is time for dessert."

"Oh." Elena decided not to ask what had happened to dinner. "What is for dessert?"

"You are," he said, with an enigmatic grin.

They arrived on the deck and he walked her to one of the large, padded lounge chairs. The sun had finished its descent and now the sea was dark.

"Lay down," he said, and Elena complied, looking up at the night sky, the stars hidden behind the grey sheen of the city's glow.

Damon ran his finger down the length of her body, slowing as he slipped between her legs, cupping her heat and then sliding two fingers deep inside her. She spread her legs wider, wanting more of him, knowing she was wet enough that she could take more, that he could stretch her as wide as he wanted.

But he didn't. Instead, he moved away, smiled down at her, and returned below.

Elena remained on the lounge, frustrated.

And then, when he didn't return right away, she slipped her own hand between her legs, slowly circling her clit, wanting to take the edge off the pressure building inside her.

"Naughty," Damon said, his voice soft from where he stood on the far side of the deck. "That is for me to touch, and me only."

"I—"

"I'm very proprietary about what belongs to me," he said. "But we will worry about your punishment later. Right now, I have a treat."

He moved closer, and Elena could see that he was holding a bowl full of strawberries. There was a can tucked under his arm, too, and it took her a second to recognize it as whipped cream.

Elena laughed, then stopped when he pressed a fingertip to her lips. Then he took a strawberry and fed it to her. It was ripe and delicious, and she sighed with satisfaction.

"Now close your eyes," he said. "And maybe I will give you a few more."

She bit back a grin, but complied. Then she heard the shaking of the can. Then the aerosol sound of the cream being dispensed.

And then she felt the cool, soft, wet chill on her breast. Then down her belly. Then all the way to her sex.

"Oh, god, Damon, that feels good. Strange. Good."

"I'm very glad to hear it. Now open your eyes but don't move."

Elena obeyed and felt every tiny sensation as Damon took a single strawberry, then rubbed it over her cream-covered breast before popping it in his mouth. He took another, then another. And all the while it was all she could do to lay still.

"I have made a bit of a mess," he said, with a devilish grin. "I better clean it up." He bent his mouth to her breast, and she gasped and squirmed as he licked every bit of cream up, driving her just a little bit crazy in the process.

And then he used a berry to follow the trail down her belly.

Her stomach muscles twitched as he moved lower and lower. Her sex throbbed. She was so hot that she was certain the cream had melted into a liquid goo. But Damon wasn't inclined to hurry. His tongue laved her all over, lapping up the cream, moaning with pleasure as he swallowed and tasted, nipped and sucked.

In front of her, the skyline rose, the buildings lit like jewels against the night sky. She felt much like those buildings, as if she was light from within, only a few pinpricks of illumination escaping from wherever his tongue had seen fit to tease her.

And he was teasing lower and lower until finally there was just the triangle of her sex. Then her slick folds, a combination of her own arousal and the froth of cream.

His tongue stroked her, deeply and efficiently, as if it was his obligation to get every last bit of cream. And with each lave of his tongue, he felt the orgasm building inside her, tighter and tighter and tighter, until finally she soared even higher than the skyline and burned at least as bright as the lights in the sky.

"Wow," Elena said, when she came back to earth. "I like your dessert."

She eyed him hungrily, noting his erection beneath his shorts before tilting her head up to meet his eyes. "Got any more cream?" she asked, then made a show of licking her lips. "Because if you do, I know exactly what kind of treat I want."

His laugh reverberated through her. "Sweetheart," he said as he unbuttoned his shorts. "You can have as much as you want."


	13. Chapter 13

_MYSTIC FALLS 2017_

"I see what Wes was getting at with the consolidation of all the recreation facilities in one area," Damon was saying as the elevator doors open and they stepped into the office's penthouse foyer. They had spent the morning on the tenth floor in the previously empty space that Gilbert International had made available to Damon and his team for the duration of the project.

Now, they were on our way up for a meeting with John, but Damon's mind was still on the designs that he had taped to the wall and then immediately started revising with bold blue pencil.

"It is not only a terrible use of the natural space, but it also limits the flexibility of the resort as a whole." He glanced up, saw Violet, John's secretary, waving them over, and gave her a half-hearted wave as he flipped more pages in the notebook he was holding. "I also want to discuss the construction crew. Unless you are contractually locked in, I'm more comfortable with my own team."

"If we hit a snag, we can bring Meredith in, but you and I can work it out. Is John ready for us?" Elena asked Violet as they reached her desk.

Elena glanced down and could see by the light on the phone that he was not. She glanced at her watch and then frowned. John was exceptionally prompt, and she couldn't help but wonder why he was still on a call when they were scheduled to meet with him right now.

She was about to ask Violet who was John on the phone with when the intercom buzzed.

"Are they here?"

Elena frowned. John's voice was rarely that tight, and she wondered what morning crisis he had to handle.

"I was just about to send them in," Violet said.

As Damon levered himself off the reception couch, she gave Violet a quick nod, and Violet pushed the button to open the door.

John was standing by the window when they entered, and as the door shut behind them, he hit a button on the remote he was holding. Immediately, the automatic blinds that covered the wall of windows started to close, shifting the room into dark.

The projection screen began to descend and a tabloid-style headline splashed onto it:

Sex and Corruption! Which one is better?

"Would one of you care to tell me what the hell this is?" John's voice was taut to the breaking point.

Elena looked at Damon, who did not look at her. Instead, he studied the screen where an article was now scrolling beneath the headline, complete with hyperlinks to other Richmond Scandal website articles.

Grayson Gilbert - whose place in the scandal firmament was assured by both his sudden disappearance from the politic world ten years ago, (there were rumours about his connection with the Mikaelson and Salvatore families resulting in him quitting the campaign) and his daughter's relationship with Damon Salvatore (more here) – just might be at it again!

Has he opened up a problem-plagued, not-yet-operational resort on the recently purchased Dunham Lake to investors for use as their own private playground? A secret hideaway for illicit activities and affairs?

"Oh, my god," Elena said. "How—"

"A very good question," John said, his eyes reflecting the tight grip he was keeping on control. His attention was laser-locked on Damon. "We don't even have plans from you, Mr Salvatore, and we already have scandal. Not only does this play against the family resort atmosphere we are aiming for, but this company now has a part in putting out gossip about our key investors."

"Is that an accusation, John?" Damon asked

"How do you explain about this?" John asked.

"I have no idea." Damon looked around the room as if searching for something. "I'm not the only one who is involved in this project," he said. "And yet I'm the only one in here getting my ass bitten off."

"And if I learn that any of those folks are displeased about a past business arrangement, I'll be sure to call them in," John said as he aimed the remote and continued to scroll through the article.

Elena read the words that pop up and felt even more queasy.

Perhaps conflict with starchitect—Damon Salvatore was adding some stress to the mix over at Gilbert International. Our scandal scouts say that Damon Salvatore is the newest addition to The Resort at Dunham team, but Grayson Gilbert had previously rumoured to stop his daughter from seeing Damon Salvatore. So, what could have un-hardened the heart of Damon Salvatore? We smell scandal!

"Care to explain?"

"No comment," Damon said mildly. "I can't control what the reporter writes."

"Are you unhappy about what happened ten years ago, Mr Salvatore?"

"What?" Damon asked, his eyes darting immediately to Elena.

"Your relationship with Elena," John continued smoothly. "You know my brother doesn't like the idea of the two of you together."

Elena looked between the two men. She didn't know what to do.

"I know. Grayson doesn't like me because I'm a Salvatore."

"It is what you and your family do, Mr Salvatore."

Damon was annoyed. "That sounds like something a Gilbert would say."

Elena had her hand on the edge of John's desk, using that to keep her balance. She might not know what to do but she did know that the vitriol in the room was beyond toxic.

"So, you have been holding on to a grudge for ten years, and when the opportunity arose to shove a few barbs my brother's way you jumped on it—and injured Elena and the entire Gilbert International in the process."

"Are you actually suggesting that I would harm a project that now bears my name simply to get back at Grayson?"

John took a single step towards Damon. "We, the Gilbert know our own mind. We know our own code, and we know how we value our work and what we have built over the years. But I know very little about you, Mr Salvatore. I will give you the benefit of the doubt for now. But if it turns out that you are behind this, I promise I will bury you."

"Fine," Damon said.

He turned to leave, and Elena moved to follow. Because right then, she wanted to know what was inside Damon's head.

"Stay," John ordered. "I want to have a word with you, Elena."

Damon caught her eye, nodded a brief acknowledgment, then strode out the door with the cool and calm demeanour of a man who didn't have a care in the world.

"What did you notice?" John asked Elena the moment the door shut behind Damon.

She forced herself to stand up straight and not panic. "He never denied it."

"No," John said as he took a seat behind his desk. "He didn't."

"What does that mean?" Elena asked, afraid that she already knew.

John surprised her by shaking his head just slightly. "Might mean nothing." He met her eyes. "If I had been in his position I wouldn't admit or deny anything, either. Why give some bastard who's put you on the spot the satisfaction?"

Elena exhaled, then sagged a bit in relief. "I see." Her relief was short-lived, however, when I remember the one thing that John still didn't know—the words Damon had said to her about punishment. She thought about it—and felt anger and betrayal boiled in her gut.

"But I will keep my eye on him and the project. He is in a unique position to cause some real hurt. You should keep an eye out, too," he added, and something in his voice suggested that it was not hurt to the company he meant, but to her.

She conjured a generic smile. "I will. Of course." She took a half-step toward the door, eager to get out, but John halted her with his next words. "There is something else you need to see."

Something in his voice filled her with dread, and she turned back to him slowly. "What is wrong?"

He nodded toward the screen. The Richmond Scandal article disappeared, replaced by a single photograph.

Elena swallowed as her cheeks heated with mortification. It was an image of Damon and her locked in an embrace. And not a sweet end-of-a-movie-type kiss, either. No, this was when Damon had grabbed her, pulling her close, practically fucking her mouth with his tongue. One hand was in her hair, the other starting to slide under the waistband of the pants to tease her ass.

Just looking at the image made Elena squirmed—in embarrassment, yes, but also from the memory.

"John," she said, then had to clear her throat because that came out way too high and squeaky. "I'm…"

She gave up, not sure if she should start by apologizing for being caught on tape or for being unprofessional. And not entirely sure how to phrase either.

"Sit down."

Elena sat. Legs together, hands in her lap, eyes down.

"Look at me."

She drew in a breath and lifted her head, prepared for whatever lashing he was about to dole out. But where she expected to see retribution on his face, she saw only concern. "You are not in trouble, Elena," he said gently. "But I am worried."

She felt herself relax immediately. "I didn't think about the security cameras. And then when I remembered—well, I never thought that you—that anyone—would see that." Not entirely true. Elena knew the guys in security would, but none of them would have sent the picture to John without telling her first.

"I doubt I would have had it not been for the Scandal story. I pulled the feed myself."

"So, this isn't wide?" Elena realized only as she said the word that she had been half-worried that this was fodder for some second Richmond Scandal story.

"As far as I know, no one had seen it."

Elena ran her fingers through her hair, not really sure how she felt about any of this other than horribly embarrassed and incredibly unprofessional. "You should know that—"

Once again, she cut herself off. She had been about to deny, but deny what? That Damon and her were involved again? They were. That it had nothing to do with the resort? It did.

Finally, she settled on the generic. "You should know that although I'm incredibly embarrassed that you have seen that, it doesn't negatively impact the resort. Not my dedication to the project or Damon's."

"I'm going to say this only once—I believe you. But if it turns out I'm wrong, I will take you off the resort immediately."

She squeezed her fingers together. "I understand."

"That is not my primary concern, though."

"I will make sure the project runs smoothly."

"Dammit, Elena."

Elena froze.

"This isn't about the project. This is about you."

She waited, not sure where this was going.

"You are my niece. I understand men like Damon Salvatore, and I don't want to see you hurt."

"I—oh." She drew in a breath.

"I don't trust him. I have given him the benefit of the doubt about the Richmond Scandal's article, but the key word there is doubt."

"I understand. But I believe him." The latter was not entirely true. Because right now she was not sure. She wanted to believe that Damon wouldn't do that—wouldn't use their time on the lake to gain some leverage against the project. Against Gilbert International. Against her father.

She wanted to believe it—but the word punishment kept filling her head.

That, however, was not something John needed to know, and she felt a little sick. Both from her rising anger and worry, and from the simple fact that she was keeping secrets from her uncle.

John's smile was thin. "I know you trust him. And now we have circled back to why I'm worried about you."

He moved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "We will drop it now. But, Elena, I'm going to pay attention. And if I think that he is using you as a way to get to the project—or if he is doing anything to hurt you—I will destroy him. I protect my family. And I watch out for my family."

Elena nodded, moved by the words, even though the concern behind them scared her. Because between her knowledge of the punishment and the doubt that John had planted, her thoughts were spinning. She rose, ready to get out and get her head clear.

"One more thing before you go. It is possible Pastor Young is part of this."

"Pastor Young?"

"He has meddled in our business before, pulled in the gossip rags, manipulated things for his own benefit."

Elena nodded. She knew well enough that what John said was true.

"And he is the type of man who would pull strings from behind the scenes."

"You think he is getting information from someone here?" Elena frowned, remembering that Pastor Young had been at the documentary screening. He was on the National Historic and Architectural Conservation Project's board, just like Michael Prado. Everyone in town knew the connection of Pastor Young and the Mikaelson. Klaus knew about the project. Did that mean Pastor got the information from Klaus?

She started to mention the connection to John, but decided against it. The truth was there was no connection—just her mind turning in conspiratorial circles. And until she asked Damon, there was no reason to mention a thing—although those damn doubts of hers were now buzzing around like gnats.

"I think it is something to think about," he said, "but don't think too hard. Focus on the work, not the scandal. That is just noise, Elena."

She nodded. From his perspective, he was right. From hers, she needed to ask Damon about the scandal—and about what he meant by punishment. And even about Pastor Young.

"Your parents arrive in just a few hours. I don't think they will be thrilled knowing you are involved with Damon again."

She sighed. "I will deal with them."

John hesitated. "Elena, I hope you know what you are doing."

"I will let you know if anything else happens," she said. "Or if I learn anything concrete."

By the time Elena left, she had pent up so much worry and fear that she was about to explode

"What's the matter?" Violet asked, but she waved the question away. Right now, she needed to talk to Damon.

She found him on the tenth floor, in the corner office which was the only fully finished area on this floor. The rest would be built out over the next few weeks to provide additional workspace for any draftsmen or other staff that Damon needed to bring in on the project.

There was also a reception desk just outside the office for Damon's secretary. Right now, she was still in Los Angeles, but Damon had already said that he might bring her out and keep his Los Angeles office temporarily dark while he was here in Mystic Falls.

She shoved Damon's door open and burst into his office.

He was standing at a drafting table, and looked up, surprised, when she blew in.

The room was a mess. Papers scattered everywhere, boxes tilted on their side, and she could not tell if this was the chaos of moving or if Damon had done a number on the room himself.

Elena suspected the latter, and that only rekindled her temper and fears about that punishment he had mentioned.

"I should have known." Her voice was harsh yet controlled. Too controlled. "You told me. You told me this was about revenge. I thought you meant me. But all this time, you are trying to get back at my father?"

He lifted a finger, and held it towards her, his face so tight that she knew he was fighting not to explode. Frankly, she knew the feeling.

"Do not start with me," he said. "Don't you burst in here and tell me that you believe what that son of a bitch is saying."

"Goddammit, I trusted you. Desperately. Intimately. You can't fuck with trust like that, Damon. You just can't."

For a moment, Elena thought she saw hurt flash in his eyes. Then there was only cold calculation. "What exactly do you think you know?"

"You used me." She felt her eyes burnt, and for the first time in her life she was grateful that she could not burst into tears. "You used me. And why? So, you can make my father look bad?"

"You have no idea what you are talking about," Damon said very slowly. "And as for trust, I'm not seeing a lot of it from you, either."

She took a deep breath and try to calm her temper. "Fine. Okay. Fine." She dragged her fingers through her hair and tried to regroup. "Have you seen Pastor Young?"

"Pastor Young?"

"John thinks that he may be behind some sabotage at the company."

Elena tried to read Damon's face, searching for knowledge, but she saw nothing but confusion, and she was relieved.

"Why?"

"It has happened before. I can't get into the details, but I have seen a lot, and I have seen that man do some pretty reprehensible things, and the fact that my father is his competitor only makes it worse."

Damon took a step towards her, but right then, she did not want his compassion. She had let her own shit slide into this conversation, and that was not somewhere she needed to go.

She lifted her head, steeling her resolve, and asked him point-blank, "Are you working with Pastor Young?"

Damon stopped cold, and the gentleness she saw in him a moment ago vanishes. "Are you kidding me?"

"Pastor Young was at your documentary," she said. "I saw him. And now I want an answer. Have you seen him? Are you working with him?"

"I am absolutely not working with Pastor Young," he said, and Elena believed him.

She still didn't know what to think, though. She knew what Damon meant by punishment. She remembered what Bonnie told her about Damon researching the lake before he was even offered the project.

She thought about all that—and she didn't know what it meant.

"So what's going on here?" Damon said. "Are you firing me?"

She shook her head. "No. There is no proof." She met his eyes. "John didn't know Pastor Young was there at the documentary screening"

"I'm not working with Pastor Young. I already told you that."

"Yeah," she said. "That is what you said. You also said you wanted revenge." She drew in a breath. "The truth is, I don't know what is going on, Damon. But the bottom line is that I'm not letting you fuck up my resort because of some vendetta you have against my father."

His jaw tightened. "Why do you think I have some vendetta against your father?"

"Because you believe he was the one who forced me to end our relationship."

Damon narrowed his eyes. "Was he?"

"Damon, please. Can we drop it?"

There was a brief silence.

"I guess you know what you know," he said coldly.

"I know I need to be careful," Elena said. "I know I need to be smart." She was afraid, so very afraid, that she had opened herself too much to this man. That she knew better than to let herself trust. And that now she was paying the price.

"Then be smart," he said. "Because if you use your head, you know that I would never, ever put this project in jeopardy. My reputation means too much to me. You mean too much to me. Everything we have shared together? Every part of yourself that you have given me? Do you really believe I would violate that trust?"

"I don't know," Elena admitted, and felt as though her heart was breaking. "I just don't know."

"No? Well, you should."

"Damon."

"Go," he said.

"Damon, dammit, we need to—"

"Right now, Elena, I need you to leave."

x x x

 _Right now, Elena, I need you to leave._

Damon's words cut through Elena, hot and horrible. They were her words, the ones she said to him so many years ago. And for over an hour they filled her head as she washed her face and reapplied her makeup in the restroom.

When she couldn't use that as an excuse for hiding anymore, she went up to her desk and try to get some work done on the resort, hoping that poring over details would leave no room for her thoughts of Damon.

But considering the project for the day was dealing with the FAA about the small landing strip so that tourists could take a helicopter for sightseeing around the lake, her mood had not improved much by the time she pushed her work aside so that she could walk down town to the offices of Mikaelson Corporate, where Caroline was working as the marketing manager. She had agreed to meet Caroline for lunch.

Elena had been to this office dozens of times with Caroline, so she was not surprised when Cindy, the receptionist, told her to just go to Caroline's office directly because she was running five minutes late. She tapped on the door, and then let herself in, her apology dying on her lips when she saw Klaus sitting across the table from Caroline.

Caroline stood up and reached over her. "I'm so glad to see you," she said, giving Elena a hug.

Elena smiled. "I'm glad to see you too."

"Klaus and I were having a meeting just now but it is over." Caroline glanced at her watch. "Give me five minutes. I just need to use the bathroom."

"Sure."

"I will be with Elena until you are back," Klaus said.

Caroline grinned. "Thanks. I will be quick."

She winked and left her office.

"It is nice to see you again, Elena," Klaus said when Caroline had gone.

"Yeah." Elena felt his eyes on her but she didn't look his way. She took a seat next to him, hating how awkward she felt around him. "You and Caroline look happy together."

"We are happy together. Couples should have faith in each other," he said, Elena knew he was not talking about his relationship with Caroline

Maybe he was right. Maybe she should. But she said none of that out loud. She just shrugged and repeated herself. "Anyway, I am glad the two of you are happy."

"He has faith in you, Elena."

"Maybe."

Klaus looked at her for a minute, his gaze so steady that it felt as though he was memorizing her face. "You know what you know, Elena. Don't second-guess yourself."

Elena looked away, unwilling to meet his eyes. She didn't like the way his words sting, the way they brought out everything that she was afraid of.

But mostly Elena was afraid that she had screwed up. And that she had lost Damon again.

The next two days had been so crazy with meetings that Elena had very little time to think about Damon.

She was grateful for that small blessing.

She was even more grateful that she didn't see him all day, but when seven o'clock rolled around and the building started to empty out, Elena found herself thinking more and more about him. It was stupid, because she was not ready to see him again. She didn't know what she wanted to say or how she wanted to say it.

But that didn't change the fact that she was craving him, and the fact that he hadn't come up to see her—that he didn't crave her, too—was bothering her more than Elena liked to admit.

And so even though it made her feel like she was in high school all over again, she called down to building security and ask Joe if Damon was in the building.

"No, madam, Miss Gilbert. He hasn't been in today at all."

Elena hung up the phone and felt like a fool. Because the truth was, she could have gone home an hour ago, but she had been hanging out hoping to see Damon, when Damon wasn't even here to be seen.

She was a mess and she knew it.

When she arrived home she went straight up to her room. In the bedroom she stripped off the jacket and skirt of her blue business suit, then pulled on a pair of black leggings and a cosy cowl-necked tunic and slipped into a pair of ballet-style flats. Pausing for a moment in front of the mirror, she brushed her hair behind her ears and anchored it with a narrow band.

When she was ready, she padded back down the hall into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and meditated on the contents for a moment. After a while she removed a hunk of sheep's-milk feta cheese and a nearly empty bottle of Chardonnay.

"Do you want me to cook you something to eat, Miss Gilbert?" Maria asked.

"I'm not hungry." She arranged her small haul on a tray and carried it into another room next to her bedroom, where she maintained a home office. Sinking down onto the high-backed chair, Elena propped her feet on the corner of the desk and munched a cracker with some of the cheese on it.

Her phone rang. Her heels came down off the desk with a small thud. She sucked in a half-strangled breath and sat forward abruptly. The Chardonnay sloshed wildly in the glass. Several drops went over the rim.

It must be Damon, she thought as she reached for her phone. But she was disappointed when she looked at the caller ID. It was her mother, as she had expected because she had been avoiding her parents for the past two days. Might as well get this over with fast. She braced herself and answered the phone.

In typical maternal fashion, Miranda Grayson did not take long to come to the point.

"What's going on between you and Damon?" she asked without preamble.

"Long story."

"Your father called John yesterday. It was not what anyone would call a cheerful, light-hearted conversation. You and Damon are seeing each other again. Is that right?"

"Yes."

"But, darling, why?" Miranda's voice rose in that practiced wail of dismay that is unique to mothers around the world. "You know he is not the right one for you."

Miranda did not actually add at last but it was there, silently tacked on to the end of the sentence.

"You know why, Mum."

There was a short silence, and then Miranda sighed.

"So it is true?" Miranda asked, her voice grim.

"Afraid so." Elena hunched around the phone in her hand. "Is Dad upset?"

"He was unhappy when he read the Richmond Scandal." Another short silence hummed on the line. "I just want you to be careful, dear."

"What are you trying to say, Mum?"

"Things didn't end well between Damon and you. But now he has agreed to work for you."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," Miranda said bluntly, "that if he has decided to see you socially, as you call it, he very likely has a reason."

Elena felt her stomach tighten. "Is this where you tell me that the only thing Damon wants from me is sex?"

"No." Miranda paused. "To be frank, I expect that, given his money and position, Damon can get as much of that as he wants."

Elena winced. She had a feeling her mother was right. "Please don't tell me that you think he is getting some sort of perverse satisfaction out of having an intimate relationship with me. I refuse to believe that he is so warped or so immature that he sees seducing me as a form of one-upsmanship."

"No."

"But I think he is up to something."

She froze. "What?"

"I bet you still remember the reason you father quitted the campaign."

"We didn't have evidence it was his family who was behind the blackmail."

"Yes, you are right," Miranda said pointedly. "But that is not the issue here. What I want you to understand is that Damon Salvatore is one very smart, very savvy person. We know nothing about him or his family but I can guarantee there will be lots of dark secrets."

"So?"

"Someone obviously didn't want your father to win the campaign ten years ago. Damon has agreed to work with Gilbert International and people start dwelling into your father's past. I suspect he is working on something."

"What are you trying to imply, Mum?"

"Gilbert International."

"What?"

"I think the Salvatore family wants Gilbert International."

"Stop." Elena could hardly breathe. "Stop right there. Don't say it, Mum. Please don't tell me that he is sleeping with me just because he thinks he can get his hands on Gilbert International that way."

There was a heavily freighted pause on the other end of the line.

"He would have to do more than sleep with you to get his hands on a large piece of the company," Miranda said finally. "The important thing here is that I don't want you get hurt again."

x x x

Elena left her office Thursday afternoon because she just couldn't be in the office any longer. Because she needed to see Damon. Because she needed to talk to him.

Klaus was right. Couples should have faith in each other. She had made a mistake of pushing Damon away from her ten years ago. She didn't want to lose him again.

But she wouldn't believe Damon was up to something. She would never believe Damon would sleep with her in order to get his hands on Gilbert International. It was true that she did not have a great track record when it came to applying her intuitive abilities to Damon Salvatore. For some reason, her normally reliable sensors always seemed to get scrambled when it came to analysing his vibes. But she still trusted her own feelings. She loved Damon. She had never stopped loving him. And she knew Damon liked her and cared about her. He would never hurt her.

But now that she was here at the marina, all she had done for the last twenty minutes was stand on the dock looking at Damon's houseboat.

Damon was in there—Elena was sure of it. She saw his shadow pass through his office right as she arrived. And yet even though he was the reason she came, she couldn't quite make herself go in. She was afraid that he would push her away—and she didn't think that she could stand that.

 _No. He wouldn't. He was your knight. He was always your knight._

Elena nodded, bolstered by her thoughts. Then she hitched her tote bag up more securely onto her shoulder and made her way onto the boat.

Nothing was locked. Not the gate to the boat nor any of the doors once she was on board.

It was not exactly safe, but she couldn't deny that Damon had made it easy.

Elena went first to his work area, but Damon was not there, so she headed down to the bedroom.

The shower was running, and she hesitated outside the bathroom door, tempted to join him. Then she glanced back at the bed and decided that she had a better plan.

At least, it was better if he didn't kick her out. But she was running that risk either way, so best to just not worry about it.

Elena set her tote bag on the floor, and then took out the things she had brought. She made a quick shopping stop on the way over, and she placed them on the bedside table, then bit her lip, afraid that maybe she had gone a little too far.

Then again, what was that saying? Go big or go home? As far as she was concerned, those were words to live by.

She heard the shower cut off, and knew that Damon would be back here soon. She debated, but then made a last second decision. She peeled herself out of her skirt and blouse, bra and panties. She left on the black stilettos, though. And she grabbed a starched white button-down from Damon's closet and slid into it, buttoning all but the top three buttons.

It hung to mid-thigh and from the small image in the mirror over the built-in dresser Elena thought she looked cute and sexy—and hopefully desirable and forgivable.

At any rate, it was too late now, because the door was opening and Damon was entering, and she sucked in a breath when he stepped fully into the room and she saw him, lean and perfect, with nothing but a thin towel slung low around his hips.

"Elena."

Elena couldn't read his reaction in his tone, and so she just cleared her throat and managed a weak smile. "You should lock your boat if you are going to be in the shower. You never know who might let themselves in."

"I don't usually shower during the afternoon. For some reason, I have been distracted." His eyes skimmed over her, and though his voice was still flat, the towel did little to hide his arousal. And though she knew that didn't necessarily mean he would forgive her, she was more than willing to be optimistic and took that as a good sign.

She was about to launch into an apology, but Damon spoke first.

"What is all this?" he asked with a nod to the bedside table. And this time, there was no doubt that there is heat in his voice.

Elena cleared her throat as he picked up a can of whipped cream. "I, um, I stopped by the supermarket," she said. "I was trying to figure out how to say I'm sorry that I doubted you. That I didn't trust you."

He put down the whipped cream and picked up the box of strawberries. He cocked his head when he looked at her, and though her face heat so much that she was afraid of burning the boat, she was grateful that he looked not only amused but intrigued. "And you trust me now?"

"Yes." The word was simple and entirely true.

Damon took a strawberry and put it inside his mouth before looking at her with such wild and dangerous lust she was tempted to forgo her apology and beg him to just make love to her.

"What made you change your mind?"

Elena licked her lips. "I didn't. I realized that I always trusted you. I just got caught up in the noise and the doubt. It is a vile thing. It seeps into the cracks. It can destroy things." She drew a deep breath. "Damon, I'm so sorry."

He didn't respond in kind, instead he glanced at the whipped cream. "And this is how you intend to prove it?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

There was no reading his expression, and she was both nervous and frustrated. She wanted his forgiveness. She wanted his touch.

She wanted him, plain and simple.

And right now Elena had no idea how she would survive if Damon told her to get off his boat.

"You don't need all of this."

"Are you saying you want me to leave?"

Something like pain slashed across his face. "God, no."

"Then this is what I need, Damon. You said so yourself."

"Elena…"

"Dammit, Damon. I need you to know how much I trust you. This is what I want." She picked up the whipped cream. "I fucked up, Damon. Don't you want to eat me?"

She closed the distance between them, and then breathed in the scent of him, all soap and shampoo as she watched the fire flared in his eyes. He took the can from her and tosses it onto the floor, then grabbed her wrist and pulled her close. "I don't want to eat you. I just want to touch you, to love you."

"Damon…"

"I want to trust you and I want you to trust me."

Elena slid her arms around his waist and tilted her head back so that she could look at him. At this man who cared about her and would never hurt her. "You are my knight, Damon. I trust you."

"That's a lot of responsibility."

She narrowed her eyes and grinned, because she had finally heard the acquiescence in his voice. "Can you handle it?"

"I think I can struggle through."

"Then make love to me," she said. "Love me."

Damon took a step back so that he could see all of her with just a flick of his gaze, from her heels all the way up to her eyes. "What do you have on under my shirt?"

"Nothing."

His eyes darkened with the kind of passionate promise that made her sex clench in anticipation. He walked around her slowly, and though she didn't move, Elena could feel his eyes upon her, and every inch of her body tingled with awareness.

He bent down and retrieved the whipped cream he had thrown there only moments before. "You have been naughty. But I don't want this."

She was surprised by the wave of disappointment that crashed over her. But Damon stepped up behind her and bent his mouth to her ear. "I want to make love to you. I want to bury myself deep inside you. I don't want anything between us. Not whipped cream. Nothing at all between you and me. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Have you been bad?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I should have trusted you."

"Do you trust me now?"

Elena turned, because she needed to see him. "Completely."

Her answer seemed to spark something in him, because he grabbed her shoulders, pulled her close and covered her mouth with his. When he tore his mouth away from hers, they were breathless.

He removed her shirt, letting it fall into a pool at her feet. His gaze roved over her as she stood nude before him. His hands followed the trail of his gaze, scorching her skin as he explored the small valley between her breasts and the curve of her waist. Then his fingers went lower, tangling lightly in the dark curls at the juncture of her thighs. The heat in him assailed her, summoning forth a torrent of damp fire between her legs. When his fingertips brushed through that liquid fire, Elena thought she would collapse. All the strength seemed to be gone from her limbs.

"Damon, I can hardly stand."

"I know. I feel the same way. You don't know what you are doing to me. You are so wet and hot. You drive me crazy, princess."

Elena gave a small, shaky laugh and clung to his shoulders. "You are the one who drive me crazy."

"Not true." His fingers glided around to her hips. He squeezed her gently and then he picked her up and carried her to the bed.

Then he stood, negligently letting the towel drop. He was fully erect, his body lean and tight, his face so full of passion that he looked like need personified. More than that, he looked like a god, and Elena was awestruck by the fact that someone like Damon—so brilliant, strong, and sexy—could look at her with such undiluted desire. But he did, and she was weak from the force of it.

"You are strong," she murmured, trailing questing fingertips along his taut thigh. "Strong and hard."

"Harder than I have ever been in my life," he agreed with a groan as he came down beside her on the bed. "I feel like I'm going to explode. I need to be inside you more than I need my next breath. Open for me, honey. Let me touch you."

He spread her legs, and then kneeled between them, lifting her hips as he used one hand to ease her onto her back before thrusting into her with one quick, powerful stroke. She was wet—so desperately wet—and there was no hesitation, no need for gentle coaxing, and she cried out with the pleasure of being so thoroughly and deliciously filled.

Elena was on her back, and the sensation of arching up as he thrust into her was wonderful. Her skin felt tight and awake, her breasts teased by even the motion of the air. But Damon soon changed that. He reached down and slid his hands under her, then lifted her up so that she was straddling him.

She had no hands to use, and no legs for balance, so though she was on top of him, he was doing all the work. He held her at the waist, lifting her up and down so that she was pumping him, and he was filling her.

It was insanely erotic, this sensation of fucking and being fucked at the same time, and she did the only thing she could do and that was squeezed her muscles tight around him with each thrust, trying to milk him so that he came hard and fast, even though she did not want this glorious sensation to end.

"Yes," Damon said, urging her on. "That's it, baby." With each word, he moved her harder. Faster. And Elena could feel the pressure building in him, the explosion coming.

Hers as well, because in this position he was so deep that with each thrust he pushed her closer, and at the same time the rocking motion against her clit was making her spiralled up, reaching for climax.

"Please," she moaned as they got close, so close, and he was moving her tighter and faster until finally his hands grabbed her back so that she sat straighter upon him and she met his eyes and saw that they were both on this same collision course.

And when it came, it was almost nuclear, and the only thing that kept her grounded was Damon's mouth, hard and deep against hers his tongue seeking and claiming, as if this kiss held a passion that only the two of them could share.

They stayed like that until their bodies quitted shaking and then he pulled her against him.

He stroke her gently, and the feel of his hands against her skin was like warm comfort.

He kissed her forehead. "How do you feel?"

She grinned up at him, tired and wrung out and absolutely thoroughly satisfied. "Amazing," she said sleepily. Then murmured, "Can we do it again?"

She felt his chuckle reverberated through her as he pulled her close. "I think that can be arranged. Sleep now, sweetheart."

His words seemed to float over her, and by the time Elena realized that she was already half there, the world went dark and she lost herself in the safety of Damon's arms.


	14. Chapter 14

_MYSTIC FALLS 2007_

Elena spent the next few weeks of her summer holidays with Damon. Most nights they spent on the boat, making love under the stars, relaxing on the deck with wine, or snuggling in the stateroom and watching everything from Terminator to Speed to Titanic. They settled into a comfortable familiarity that she loved, and the only time she felt unhappy or insecure at all was when she remembered that summer holidays were going to end—and that the end was coming soon.

"Damon," she would say, and Damon would know, just from the tone of her voice. He would pull her into his arms and kiss her and tell her that the only thing that mattered was the moment. And as Damon made love to her, slowly and sweetly, she tried hard—so hard—to believe him.

Sometimes, she even came close.

Not that they were complete shut-ins. She joined him one night at a reception of a fund-raising organised by The Mikaelson Corporate to support a community art centre right on the edge of Mystic Falls. The centre's walls were now studded with everything from still lives to graffiti-like murals to delicate pencil sketches. And Klaus was making the rounds like a proud parent, with Damon looking almost as proud as his friend.

"So, what do you think, baby girl?" Klaus asked pulling her into a hug.

"I'm impressed," Elena said. "And everyone looks like they are having a great time." It was true. The staffs from the art centre, were making the rounds like celebrities. As far as she could tell, Klaus' reception was the highlight of their year. "Where is Alaric?" she asked, realizing that she hadn't seen his face among the crowd.

"California," Damon said.

Elena remembered the phone call she had overheard on the boat. "Trouble?"

"Nothing he can't handle." He took her arm. "We are going to go find a drink," he said to Klaus. "Good job, man."

"Thanks, buddy."

Elena glanced around the cavernous room as Damon led her to the bar. "Maybe I should ask Caroline to do something like this for the annual fund-raiser," she said. "It is a good way to let the public knows about how talented some of the young people are."

"Caroline is in charge in the annual fund-raiser?" Damon asked, as they waited for the bartender to make their drinks.

"She is the president of the Interactive Club for our high school and we have to plan a fund-raising event yearly. We had some food and game stalls last year. It was fun but it was hell to organise it." She made a sour face.

"I bet it."

"Maybe I can ask Caroline to talk to Klaus about doing something like this. I think she will like the idea of art displays for fund-raising."

"Hmm."

She raised her brows. "What does it mean?"

"What?"

"You don't think it is a good idea, do you?"

"Of course not. I think the idea is great."

"But you don't sound convinced."

Damon shrugged casually. "Well, I'm not sure Caroline and Klaus will get along."

"Caroline and I have been friends since first grade. She is nice. She gets along with most people."

He gave her a fleeting smile. "I'm sure she is."

The bartender returned with their drinks. Elena picked up her chardonnay, took a sip and set the glass down very precisely on the little napkin. She remembered the phone call she had overheard on the boat and she was debating whether she should enquire further.

"Are you okay?" Damon asked after a while.

"Yeah." She lied. "It is kind of weird not seeing Alaric here tonight. You know, the three of you always stick together."

"We aren't inseparable."

She studied the wine in her glass. "What is Alaric doing in California? Pleasure or business?"

"Both." He glanced around the room, and Elena saw him lock onto Klaus. "I need to run something by Klaus. Will you be okay by yourself for a moment?"

Elena laughed. "I'm the daughter of the man who is going to be the next governor candidate," she said. "Trust me when I say that I can fake my way through any party on the planet."

Damon kissed her cheek. "In that case, I will be back in a minute."

As she watched Damon walk away, she couldn't help but wonder what was so urgent that he needed to discuss it with Klaus right then. It was obvious that he didn't want to discuss about what was Alaric doing in California.

Not that she had long to think about it. Klaus had done the reception up right for the community art centre, and had invited more than a few of the elite of Mystic Falls, and she soon found herself chatting with the director of the community art centre.

Elena listened politely, then managed to extricate herself, talking first with a young woman who was one of the artists from the community art centre and then with a tall black man in a perfectly tailored suit who held out his hand in greeting.

"Miss Gilbert," he said, his face bland face. "So glad to see you here."

"Thank you," Elena said. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Marko," he said, still holding her hand.

She started to gently tug her hand free, but Marko tightened his grip. She frowned, assuming he was one of those men who just never quite managed the art of the handshake. But then his fingers tightened even more, and even before he spoke, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle in warning.

"Tell your boyfriend and his buddies to back off," he said, without any particular menace in his voice. And it was his pleasant tone that made the conversation that much creepier. "Tell them that if they don't there's going to be trouble. More trouble. Tell them that is a promise. You understand?"

"I—" Elena wanted to play it cool. To toss some brilliant comeback at him. To show that she wasn't scared at all. But it wasn't true, and she wasn't that much of an actress. So all she did was gape at him, her mouth open like some frantic, hooked fish.

He stared at her face, his previously bland features now turning menacing. "Yeah, I think you do."

Then he yanked his hand free, tipped his head, and disappeared into the crowd. Elena stood there, her blood so chilled she felt frozen to the spot. Damon. She willed herself to move. She needed to find Damon. She needed to warn him. To point this guy Marko out to him. To ask him what the hell was going on. Move, dammit, move.

She did. One step, then another.

And then one more until motion felt normal again.

But it wasn't Damon she found when she finally made it across the room. It was Matt.

She forced a smile. "Hello. I didn't realize you were here."

"Elena," he said. "I have missed you."

She smiled again, feeling awkward, because she didn't say the expected reply—that she missed him, too.

But she didn't. She didn't miss him at all. And the truth was, she wished he had just move on.

Unfortunately, Matt was not in tune with what Elena wanted. That, of course, had been one of their problems all along.

"So, who was that you were just talking to?" he asked.

That prickly, fearful feeling returned. "I—I'm not sure. Just some guy."

"I thought perhaps you knew him," Matt said. "He seemed very intense." He took a step closer to her. "I almost came over to ask if I could help you. Should I have? Did you need help, Elena?"

Elena forced herself to meet his eyes. Forced herself to mask the fear.

She could only hope that she succeeded. "No, it was fine. Just some guy." She lifted a shoulder in a shrug. "I think you are reading too much into things, Matt."

"Am I?" His mouth curved down in a frown. "I don't know." He paused long enough that Elena actually thought he was going to say goodbye. But it wasn't her day for good luck.

"Looks like things have gotten serious between you and Salvatore."

Elena said nothing, but inside she was terrified. Because she could read between the lines easily enough. Marko was bad news. Someone from the life that Damon kept hidden. And now Matt was suspicious of her relationship with Damon. She hadn't told anyone about her relationship with Damon except her best friends Bonnie and Caroline, and she knew the two girls would keep her secret.

"I thought you were going to Whitmore," he pressed.

"I am," Elena said warily—was he really letting her off the hook that easily? "Caroline, Bonnie and I will go to Whitmore together. We are planning to share our rooms together."

She was smiling like an idiot, and she was damn sure that she was trying too hard.

"So, what's this with Salvatore?" he asked, destroying her fantasy that he had dropped the subject. "Just one of those good girl/bad boy flings?"

"What the hell, Matt?" Elena had intended her tone to sound sharp—the perfect fuck off exit point for this conversation. But instead, it came out tired and a little wary.

"I still care about you. More, I worry about you."

She held up a hand. "This isn't a conversation we are having." She had to move. Had to get out of there. But when she started to walk away, Matt grabbed her arm. She shook it free. "Jesus, Matt…"

"Salvatore isn't a guy you can mess up with. He is dangerous. He will put it in danger."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Elena snapped. Not exactly a lie, but not the truth, either.

"You know," he said. "Because I already told you. He is bad news, Elena. And so are Klaus Mikaelson and Alaric Saltzman. Stay away from them."

Her heart was pounding so hard that Elena could barely hear her own words through the thrumming in her ears. "You know what, Matt? I would like to say it was a pleasure running into you, but that would be a huge lie. Now if you will excuse me, I'm going to go find my date."

Except she didn't go find Damon. She moved out of the main room into one of the smaller adjoining rooms, then leaned against the wall, closed her eyes, and concentrated on breathing as she tried to get herself together.

What the hell was wrong with her?

She had known almost from the beginning that the stuff Matt said about Damon was probably true. That there was illegal thing going on in the background. And, hell, hadn't Damon almost—almost—even confessed as much to her? And, damn it, hadn't the possibility made her hot? The possibility that Damon had dark pasts and secrets made him larger than life. Exciting. Sensual. Thrilling.

But now—

Now with worms like Marko approaching her and Matt hounding her—

Oh, god, now it all felt too real. Too scary.

She couldn't imagine Damon being locked up behind the bars and the eyes of the world looking hard at him and knowing that he screwed up.

She didn't want that for Damon—not for any of the knights.

Even more, she didn't want it for herself. Didn't want the risk of being forced to testify. To sit in a small room with questions tossed at her. And didn't want the risk that someone she loved would be yanked away from me.

Loved.

Elena squeezed her eyes tight, pushing the thought away. Breathing deep. Trying desperately to keep herself from coming completely undone.

A soft tap on the door frame had her almost jumping out of her skin. She opened her eyes and whipped her head around to face Damon.

"What is wrong?"

She managed a watery smile. "That obvious?"

He moved to her side. "I know you."

"So does some guy named Marko." Elena watched him as she spoke, saw the tension run through him. "He gave me a message. I'm supposed to tell you to back off." She sucked in a breath. "Will you tell me who he is?"

Damon said nothing for a minute, then he lifted his hand, displaying his knuckles. "He is a competitor," he said. "A business competitor."

"Oh." She thought about that, then decided not to press for more. Whatever was going on under the surface, Damon already knew about it. And she didn't see even a hint of fear in his eyes. She did, however, see a spark of anger as he reached out and gently stroked her cheek.

"He scared you."

"He was creepy," Elena admitted. "But I'm okay now." She looked in his eyes and realized it was true. As corny as it sounded, she was okay now because Damon was beside her.

"I saw you talking to Donovan."

"Lucky me."

"Everything okay there, too?"

Elena nodded. What was she going to say? That she had realized she was terrified for him and, oh, by the way, she might be falling in love with him, too? She settled for, "Yeah. Everything is fine. He saw me talking to Marko."

"What else did he say?"

"He said that he missed me."

"I see." Elena saw the vulnerability in his eyes, and she had to bite back a gasp as a sudden realization shook her. Damon might be everything that Matt accused him of. He might be dangerous as hell. But right then, she had the power to hurt him.

She reached out and brushed her thumb over his lip. "I told him that I didn't miss him at all," she said.

He held her eyes for what felt like eternity. She saw relief there. And she saw what she wanted to believe was love.

After a moment, Damon blinked. "I need to take care of something," he said gently, and although she didn't ask, she had a feeling that Marko was the reason for this change in plans. "It shouldn't take long. Wait for me at the boat?"

Her smile felt watery. "I think I will go home instead," she said. I wanted to be on familiar ground with my thoughts.

Damon eyed her cautiously. "You are sure everything is okay?"

She leaned close and kissed him hard and slow and deep. "Everything is fine. My parents are out of town but Maria is around. Come over later?"

"As soon as I can."

"Good," she said.

"I will have my driver take you home. I will ride with Klaus."

The drive only took a few minutes, and she was back in her house, and pouring a glass of lemonade in less than an hour. There was a message from Damon on her phone when she walked back to her bedroom, and she realized he must have called in the short span of time when she was in the kitchen.

"Change of plans. I have to fly to Los Angeles to take care of a few things, but I will be back tomorrow. I will be thinking of you."

Elena carried her lemonade to bed and repeated his words in her head. She would be thinking of him, too. About him. About threats and crimes. About Whitmore.

And, yes. About love.

She loved Damon. There was no doubt she was in love with him.

x x x

"Matt still cares," Caroline said. "That's why he can't let go. He is jealous because you are with Damon."

"Maybe. I don't know." Elena told her about Matt, but not about Marko. "But I don't want to think about Matt at all." She sighed. "I still haven't heard from Damon today. I need a distraction. Want to grab a drink? Why don't we ask Bonnie? I want to see her as well. We can meet at the Grill."

"Sounds like fun. See you there around seven?"

"Perfect."

She called Bonnie as soon as Caroline hung up. And then, since she had a couple of hours to kill before she changed and headed to the Grill, she decided to take a hot chocolate and a book and headed to her father's study room.

Elena was sipping at her hot chocolate when someone knocked on the door, followed by Maria's cultured voice. "Mr Salvatore is here. May I send him up?"

"He is here? Or he is on the phone?"

"He is waiting in the living room."

Her pulse quickened. "Send him up." She stood and started pacing. She was so damn eager that she felt like a fool. Damon had been gone less than twenty-four hours, and she felt like he had been away for a year.

In other words, she had it bad.

In other words, she was going to be royally screwed when she left for Whitmore.

Dangerous. Yeah. Damon Salvatore was as dangerous as they came.

Elena heard him push open the door, and she sprinted that direction, only to skid to a stop when Damon emerged, looking relaxed and windblown and sexy as hell.

She wanted to stand there and soak in the wonder of him. She wanted this moment, when it was just the two of them, and no secrets and no threats.

Then he held out his arms and she collapsed into them, overwhelmed by the sudden, inescapable feeling that this was like coming home.

Except it was only an illusion.

Elena knew the surface of his secrets, but only what he had revealed to her and only as an allegory. And while she had been telling herself that was okay since she would be leaving—that it was for the best, even—the truth was she wanted more. She wanted so much more.

Because she had realized that it wasn't the fantasy she had spun about Damon Salvatore that gave her that thrill she craved so much—it was the man himself. His presence, his humour, his tenderness. Even his secrets.

And all she wanted in that moment was to know him. To really and truly know him.

"What is it?" Damon asked, stepping back to take a good, long look at her face.

Elena half-laughed. Apparently, there were no keeping things hidden from this man.

She wanted to beg him to tell her his secrets, but she was desperately afraid that if she asked he would say no. And she didn't want to face that, not right then. Not when he had just walked through her door.

And so she kept her own secret, hiding her real needs behind a false smile. "It is nothing," she said. "Just that I didn't expect you tonight, and I already have plans with Caroline and Bonnie at the Grill. But I can break them."

"Don't do that. I will go with you. Klaus wanted to grab a drink tonight anyway. I will tell him to meet us."

"Yeah?" Elena couldn't help her smile. It felt so nice—so normal—to be planning an evening out with friends. "What about Alaric?"

"Alaric thinks that you and I are a bad idea."

Elena nodded, her chest feeling tight. She loved Alaric like a brother and hated this feeling that she was disappointing him somehow. "But Klaus doesn't?" He sure as hell hadn't been the picture of support at Destiny.

The corner of Damon's mouth quirked up. "He thinks we are a bad idea, too. But he knows we will never get each other out of our systems if we keep avoiding each other. Plus, he knows you will be leaving once you finish high school."

"I see." Her stomach felt like it was filled with rocks. "Well. There you go. I always knew Klaus was a smart guy." Her smile felt wobbly. "A fling before college. Almost sounds like the name of a really bad movie."

Elena tried to force a grin, but Damon's expression was entirely humourless. He reached out and gently stroked her jawline. "It won't ever happen, you know. It is not possible that you would ever be out of my system. You could walk away right now, and even if I never saw you again, I would always hold you tight inside me."

The rocks dissolved, and she felt lighter than air. She couldn't seem to form a proper response, but when she lifted herself up on her toes and pressed her lips to his, Elena thought he understood. His mouth tasted like mint, and though it had only been one night, she missed him like crazy. She didn't even want to think about how she was going to survive in Whitmore. If nothing else, she supposed Whitmore was about to get the best damn student ever, because she was going to dive so deep into her studies that she didn't have time or energy to think of anything else, not even the man she was falling in love with.

She trembled in his arms, finally acknowledging the thought she had tried to ignore at the art exhibition. She had fallen for Damon Salvatore within the last few days. When she had to leave, it would be a different kind of fall altogether.

"Hey," Damon said, breaking their kiss and then dipping his head to brush his lips over the tip of her nose. "Tell me what you are thinking."

"That I want you inside me," I said.

He glanced at his watch, then back up at here. His smile was slow and sensual and completely melted her. "What time are we supposed to be at the Grill?"

"Do you care if we are late?"

"Hell no," he said.

"Then it doesn't matter." She pressed against him. "We should go to the bedroom."

"We should," he agreed.

"I don't want to move."

"Then don't."

"I want it hard," she said. "No talk, no niceties. Just you inside me five minutes ago."

"Jesus, Elena," Damon growled, then scooped her up so that her legs were around his waist. He plunked her down on the study table, yanking her skirt up in the process, and then ripping his jeans open so fast she was surprised the buttons didn't pop. Elena spread her legs, wanting him, unable to wait even another second, and then reached down to try to fumble out of her panties.

"No," he said, and as she tilted her head up in question, he reached out and tugged the crotch of her panties roughly to one side. He thrust two fingers inside her, so hard and fast and deep that she cried out, and then he moved in between her legs, his cock positioned now where his fingers used to be. She was already soaked, but as soon as she looked down at where their bodies were joined—at the way he was moving inside her and the way her body was drawing him in—she got even wetter still.

"Harder," Elena demanded as he pistoned against her, his hands on her hips holding her in place even as she leaned back, bracing herself with her hands on the table. "Yes, please, more." She had lost the ability to form a coherent thought. She was need only. She was desire.

And then—faster than she could ever remember coming in her life—she burst into a wild flurry of molecules, everything she was melting into everything that was Damon.

"Baby." He sighed, his body still trembling against hers as she clung to him.

After a moment, Elena pulled reluctantly away. "I should probably change before we go."

"No," he said. "Keep the skirt and the panties on."

"Really?"

"I like it," he said. "I like knowing you are freshly fucked. That just a few minutes ago your legs were wide and I was deep inside you. I like you sitting there in your this nice outfit looking all proper, and knowing that I'm the reason your panties are damp. It reminds me that you are mine. At least until you go to Whitmore."

"I am yours," Elena said. She always would be.

She didn't say the last part aloud, but he knew it. How could he not? Hadn't she learned that Damon Salvatore knew her better than anyone?

"I'm serious," Caroline said, holding up her second beer. "I think the two of you should go skydiving."

Elena glanced at Damon, who was clearly amused by her drunk friend.

"And why would we want to do that?" Damon asked.

"Well," Caroline said, leaning across the table with a very serious expression. "In case you hadn't noticed, our little Elena is a bit of a thrill seeker."

"No," Damon said, his voice laced with mock surprise.

"It is true." Caroline nodded a few times too many, as if she was trying to mimic a bobble-head doll. "And you need to make sure that she gets it out of her system, because once she moves to Whitmore, she is going to be boring as shit," she added, in a mock whisper. "It is true. Honest."

"What is true is that you are taking a taxi home," Elena said, forcing herself to smile and sound light-hearted when she really wanted to strangle her friend. Her move to Whitmore was barrelling down on her, and she didn't want to be reminded of it, thank you very much. Even more, she didn't want Damon reminded of it.

"Are you suggesting I'm drunk?"

"Not suggesting at all. Flat-out stating."

"Drunk or not," Damon said, "I think your friend has a great idea. Shall I arrange for a skydiving session?"

"Don't you dare."

"And here I thought you are a thrill seeker."

Beneath the table, Elena cupped her hand over his cock and smiled sweetly. "That is what I have you for," she said. Her voice was a tease, but she meant every word.

In the interest of public decorum, she started to move her hand away, but he pressed his hand over hers, holding her palm firmly in place. He met her eyes, his amused, and she couldn't help but grin.

"The lady makes a good point," Damon said, and Elena had to laugh. She wasn't the only one who got off on the thrill.

"She has got you wrapped around her little finger," Caroline said.

"She does," Damon agreed cheerfully, and Caroline flashed Elena a brilliant, approving smile.

"So where is Klaus?" Elena asked as Caroline signalled to a waitress for another round of drinks. "It is almost seven-thirty."

"I have texted him twice," Damon said. "No answer."

They had arrived only ten minutes late thanks to Damon's ability to maneuverer the Camaro at incredibly fast and unsafe speeds. But there had been no need to hurry. Klaus was still MIA, and Bonnie had just arrived.

"Maybe something came up," Bonnie said as she took her sip of her beer. "You guys are always busy, right?"

Caroline chuckled. "Maybe he is being distracted."

"There he is," Damon said, looking toward the entrance. Then he pushed back his chair and stood. "Something is wrong."

Elena couldn't see Klaus' approach until she stood. The moment she did, she knew that Damon was right. Klaus was like a storm of muscle moving towards them, his expression thunderous. Even his usually kind eyes flashed with fury that he wasn't bothering to conceal.

"What is wrong?" Damon asked, obviously as baffled as she was.

Klaus cast one look her way. "Sorry, baby girl. I need him for a few." He pointed at Damon. "We need to talk. Just you and I."

"What is going on?" Elena asked, but Klaus was already walking away, and Damon was moving fast behind him.

"What the hell?" Caroline said. "They just walk away and pretend we aren't here."

"Business stuff, I guess. I'm sure it is something important." Elena tried to sound nonchalant, but she was worried and Marko's warning and Matt's voice was ringing in her ears.

"Where are they going?" Bonnie asked.

"Parking lot, I think." She looked over and saw Klaus and Damon walked towards the entrance. "It is too noisy in here."

Bonnie raised her brows. "Are they in trouble?"

Elena forced a smile. "I'm sure it is just business stuff."

"Ignore the boys. We are supposed to have fun tonight." Caroline tossed down her beer. "Another round?"

"Hell, yes," Bonnie said, as she signalled for one of the waitresses. "Another beer sounds like a great idea."

Elena had finished another bottle of beer and was feeling the effects of it by the time Damon came back. Klaus wasn't with him, and she watched the disappointment play across Caroline's face, becoming all the more pronounced when Damon refused to explain why Klaus was blowing them off. "Work stuff," he said, which was hardly a satisfactory explanation.

What was worse was the way he was distracted for the rest of the evening. He was nice to her friends, saying the right stuff, laughing at their jokes, buying rounds of drinks. But he felt absent somehow. Elena put up with it until they left, but in the car, she demanded answers. "What is going on, Damon?"

"Business," he said. He stopped at an intersection, and shot her a sideways look. "Business stuff."

"So what is the trouble?"

"Problems," he said. "At Destiny."

Elena licked her lips. "That guy? Marko? Are you guys okay?"

He focused on the road. "We are fine. Everything has been being dealt with."

She could tell Damon was getting irritated, but she pressed on anyway. "So is this a legitimate business thing? Or should I be worried that something nasty is going to happen to you?"

He yanked the wheel to the left even as he slammed on the brakes. Elena squealed the sound of her voice matching the sound of the tires as he careened into a parking lot and killed the engine. "What the hell, Elena?"

Elena gaped at him.

"Seriously," he demanded. "What the hell?"

She shook her head. "What is going on, Damon? Did Klaus hit you on the head? Because your mood has turned on a dime here, and I don't know what's going on, but you are taking it out on me."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you are!" she retorted.

"If you want me to keep liking you better than the others," he said in an icy tone, "then stop prying and talk about something more pleasant."

Her own temper kicked in. "Pleasant? I'm not your playmate. If you want pleasure, find one of your girls at the Destiny."

"What do you want, Elena?"

"What?" she repeated, because she was completely confused now.

"You are going to head off to Whitmore when you finish high school. You aren't going to stay here. Why do you care?"

"I—"Elena licked her lips. "I just want to close this distance, Damon. Klaus burst in and you ran off with him, and when you came back, it was like you were lost behind a wall. And I get that. There is stuff you can't talk about—stuff we both know about but that we have been avoiding, and it is my fault, too, because I have been skirting around the edge, as well." She sucked in a breath, not sure if her pounding pulse was because of her words or the lingering result of his reckless driving. "I don't want evasions anymore. I don't want stories or allegories or what-ifs. I want you, Damon. I want the real you."

She was spilling out her heart to him, watching his face, searching for softness, for acceptance, for relief.

Instead, all Elena saw were hard lines and angles. She saw regret, too, and it sent cold prickles of fear through her.

Damon turned away, his attention focused on some point outside the front windshield. "I want that, too," he finally said.

She exhaled in relief and waited for him to say more. To tell her the truth. To finally let her see what was underneath the knight's armour.

But that wasn't what he said.

"What do you want?" he repeated, this time speaking very slowly and very clearly. "What do you want, Elena?"

"Dammit, Damon," she shouted, losing all patience now. "Why do you keep asking me that?"

He continued to face forward, but his voice had the same edge that I was feeling. "Answer the question."

"I—I don't know," Elena snapped. "And stop asking me that question."

He put the car back into gear and pulled out onto the street. She sat frozen, certain that they had just crossed some line in the sand that she hadn't even realized he had drawn. When they reached her house, he came to a halt at her driveway. He sat silently, and it took Elena a second to realize he was waiting for her to get out.

"What the hell, Damon?"

"You are not being true to yourself, Elena," Damon said, turning to face her. "Don't expect more from me than you are willing to give yourself."


	15. Chapter 15

_MYSTIC FALLS 2017_

"I'm so glad the two of you could make it," Michael Prado said as he greeted Damon and Elena in the foyer of his astounding home just out of the town of Mystic Falls.

"We are glad to be here," Damon said, shaking his friend's hand. "I would like you to meet my girlfriend, Elena Gilbert."

Girlfriend.

It was the first time that Damon had used that title, and Elena was so astounded that she almost didn't notice the hand that Michael extended for her to shake.

"Don't look so surprised," Damon whispered after the introductions had been completed and they had joined the crowd inside the house. "It is true, isn't it?"

"Yes." The word bubbled through Elena like champagne. "Yes, it is."

She was happy. She was excited. She was Damon's girlfriend.

All things considered, life was pretty damn spiffy.

She leaned against Damon as she took in the surroundings. She had seen what an obscene amount of money could buy. Freestanding architectural relics representing different periods in history were placed artfully throughout the space, and bits and pieces of Hollywood memorabilia were mixed among the antiquities. Movie posters, candid photographs of celebrities, pages from scripts, and even three Oscars cover the walls or fill display cases.

"It is like a museum," she said, then blushed when she realized that Michael had joined them.

"It is meant to be," he said. "I keep my memories here. It seemed easier than a scrapbook, and it makes the room uniquely appealing for events like this. As Damon knows, the National Historic and Architectural Conservation Project is one of my pet causes, and when they asked me to host a cocktail party and silent auction, I was happy to do it."

"It is a wonderful cause," Elena said genuinely. "And I thought Stone and Steele was brilliant," she added, though the truth was she still hadn't seen more than the first few minutes.

"You are very kind," Prado said, then winked at Damon. "Of course, I had excellent material. But first things first. Before you check out the silent auction, we need to get you drinks. I have done enough of these events to know that there is a direct upward correlation between the amount of alcohol that goes into a person and the amount of their bid. And I really do want this event to be a success."

"Well, if drinking your alcohol will help," Damon said, "then I'm happy to oblige."

Prado called over a waiter with a tray of drinks, and then selected an Amsterdam Art and Science for Elena and a Guggenheim for Damon. "A Cosmopolitan, and a vodka martini with a twist," he said. "But we needed to keep with the theme."

He pointed to the area beneath a massive curving staircase that swept across the far wall. "The auction items are set up on tables against that wall. You can't see from here, but they extend back under the stairs, and we have quite a few goodies to bid on. I have invited a number of people with more money than time, so that means that not only do I anticipate a significant number of bids, but there are also some incredible prizes. You have donated thirty hours towards the design of a single-family home, haven't you, Damon?"

"You did?" Elena asked.

"A weak moment," he said, and they all laughed.

"I like him," she said to Damon when Prado left them to go mingle with other guests.

"As do I. My one decent experience in Hollywood so far."

"I don't know about decent," Elena said, "but there is another Hollywood experience trying to get your attention." She nodded to the stairs, where Rose Amber was descending with a fortysomething bald man with a goatee and the kind of dark frame glasses people wore when they were trying to look hip and artsy. Rose Amber drew her attention completely. She got an arm hooked through the bald man's, and with the other she was waving to Damon.

"Well, hell," he said.

"You could ignore her." Elena believed him that there was nothing going on with him and Rose Amber anymore, but that didn't mean she want to invite her over into their little circle. And, because she was just that petty, the fact that Damon had slept with her still stung.

"I could. But she is with Robert Reed."

She looked at him, confused.

"The asshole producer," Damon explained

"The one who wants to make the movie about the Santa Fe house?"

"The very one," Damon said. "And because of that, I'm going to go talk to them."

"Why?" Elena asked. "I mean, if you don't want them to make the movie."

"Two reasons. One, I firmly believe in killing with kindness where appropriate. My attorneys can be the bad guys. I will be polite and charming and quietly toxic if it comes to that."

"I like the way you think," she said.

"And second," he continued, "I want information. If they are moving forward on the project, I want to know. I might learn something my lawyers can use."

"Someone has a devious streak," Elena teased.

"You are welcome to join me, Elena."

"You go ahead. I think I'm going to go see if there is any auction item I can actually afford to bid on."

He met her eyes before he kissed her, and Elena thought she saw understanding there.

Caroline and Klaus approached her after Damon left not long later.

Caroline glanced at Damon's direction. "Why aren't you going with him? He used to date her."

"And there you have it," Elena said. "Her, tall and statuesque and movie-star gorgeous. Me, utterly plain by comparison."

"Hardly. You are fabulous and you know it," Klaus said. "And Damon adores you."

"And if I were standing right next to her, I might turn an unattractive shade of green. Besides," Elena add, "we need alone time. Interested in bidding, Klaus?"

Klaus shrugged casually. "Maybe."

"You should because it is for charity," Caroline said.

He smiled at his fiancée. "Fine. I shall bid then, dear."

They looked at each of the silent auction items, and Elena decided to bid on a couple's weekend at a boutique hotel in Laguna Beach. If she won, she would surprise Damon. And if she didn't win, she still might surprise him anyway.

"I expected Alaric to be here." They had finished the auction review, and now they were standing near a glass case with pages from the shooting script for The Wizard of Oz. Elena looked out over the crowd, but didn't see Alaric. For that matter, she didn't see Damon. She did see Rose Amber, though, and took a petty amount of satisfaction from the fact that she was not with Damon.

"Richard and Carol are here," Klaus said, pointing to the far side of the room where the mayor and his wife stood chatting with some people.

"Let's go say hi," Caroline said.

"I need to use the restroom. Why don't you two go ahead?" Elena said.

"We will see you soon," Caroline said.

As Elena headed towards the restroom, she saw Robert Reed chatting with a black man. There was something familiar about him, but she couldn't place him. It was hard to grow up in Mystic Falls and not ran across people here and there. She must have met this black man before, Elena decided.

But as she drew closer, she could overhear their conversation. His voice was also familiar, and she pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to place it. Then Robert said, "Marko, I have tried but Damon Salvatore isn't interested."

Elena went completely cold.

Marko White.

"That son of bitch has hardly changed," Marko growled. "He is still so difficult."

Damn. Marko was behind the movie about the Santa Fe house. She had to find Damon and warned him about that.

She stumbled blind through the house, her hands clenched tight at her sides because she had to stay calm. Damon could be in danger and she couldn't let it happen. She managed to keep herself together all the way to the foyer where Prado was still greeting latecomers.

"Have you seen Damon?" The urgency in her voice made Elena realized how scared she must be.

"Elena? Why, yes. He said he was going out front to take a phone call." Prado stepped towards her. "Are you all right?"

"I need to find Damon."

She got through the doors and out into the world, and she was spinning, looking for Damon. By the valet stand. In the shadows by the street. Under the streetlight.

There.

Elena ran to him, and then stopped dead when she saw that he was not alone.

"Goddammit," Damon said to his companion. "What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay away from me."

She could not hear the man's reply, but Damon's retort was crystal clear.

"That's bullshit," he said. "I want nothing to do with you. Goddamn you, Pastor."

"Elena!" Caroline's voice cut through the night, and both men turn toward Elena, their faces now lit by the soft golden light of the streetlamp.

Damon Salvatore.

And Pastor Young.

Elena made a sound like a whimper.

"Elena!" She heard the urgency in Damon's voice, and she saw both shock and guilt on his face.

She turned—and she ran.

"Elena, wait!"

But she didn't, she was running blind, at least until she stumbled, then cried out at the sharp pain in her knee.

She had broken a heel and fallen on the curb.

She saw a red-clad valet hurrying towards her from one direction. Behind her, she saw Damon sprinting towards her in the dark.

Elena scrambled to her knees, because she couldn't talk to him. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He lied to her. Oh, dear god, he lied to her.

"Elena," Damon called, and she stumbled to her feet and reached out for the valet. "Dammit, Elena, stop!"

"Leave her alone!" Caroline cried, and Elena looked over her shoulder to see her tugging on Damon's sleeve. "Dammit, Damon, just let her go."

Elena clutched the valet's hand. "Please. I need a taxi."

"Of course." The boy looked about seventeen and completely freaked out. "Are you okay? Do you need help?"

"Just the taxi. Please. Hurry."

There was one already in the pickup line, and he hurried Elena in. She collapsed gratefully into the backseat, and as the car left the curved driveway for the street, the last thing she saw was Damon standing beside Caroline, his body angled as if in motion, held in place only by her firm grip on his arm.

Elena sank back into the seat and tried to decide where to go from here. Not home. Damon would look for her there.

Not to the office, because she would be found.

In the end, she went to a motel. A boring little chain that charged way too much for its boring little rooms.

But she didn't care about the money or the decor. She didn't even care about the bed, because she did not intend to sleep.

She couldn't, not tonight.

A burst of fury whips through her and she grabbed the ice bucket off the dresser and hurled it across the room. It made an unsatisfying thud against the thin drywall and cheap paint.

"Goddamn you, Damon," she shouted. "God fucking damn you."

Damon had lied to her by omission if not outright. Acted like he hadn't seen Pastor Young when she asked him about it after the Richmond Scandal website fiasco. And maybe she could believe that tonight was just one of those first-meet coincidences if she hadn't seen his face and overheard their conversation. But she had, and Damon's was a face she knew—they had known each other for a long time. And they were obviously more than just casual acquaintances.

God, how could she have been so stupid? She put her trust—all of her trust—in that man.

And so, God helped her, she actually believed she was falling in love with him again.

No. Damn it, she did fall in love with him again, and that was why this hurt so much.

She loved him, or at least she loved the man she thought she knew.

And now, somehow, she had to manage to survive losing him all over again. Because she knew now that the man she had fallen in love with was not the man who existed.

"Shit."

The word sounded hollow, and Elena grabbed her phone to dial Caroline, then ended the call before it connected. It was not her company she craved. Damon could be standing next to Caroline, waiting for her to call and find out where she was.

Damn, damn, damn.

Elena threw herself on the bed and she squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to cry. And yet still the tears wouldn't come.

She couldn't even have that small relief to ease her pain.

Instead, she laid in the bed, lethargic and numb, and watched television as she fought the sleep that was determined to drag her under. Infomercials. Sitcoms. Bad animation.

Hour after hour until the dark, grimy window turned light.

Then she stumbled from the room, her skin tight and her eyes grainy, and walked to the lobby for the complimentary breakfast of cold pastries and lukewarm coffee.

She sat at the cheap plastic table and sipped coffee for over an hour. There was a newspaper at the place setting across from her, but she did not read it. There was a television playing one of Mystic Falls' inane morning programs, but she did not watch it.

She couldn't believe Damon would lie to her. No, not only he lied to her, he had betrayed her.

Her mother was right. Damon was up to something. That was the reason he was sleeping with her.

And how could she be so naïve to believe he actually cared about her?

Disgusted with herself, Elena shoved to her feet. If she was going to be depressed—and she believed she had every right to be—she was going somewhere more pleasant than this ugly motel lobby.

She went ahead and showered in her room, then changed into a pair of sweatpants and a plain turquoise round-neck T-shirt. She had bought both from the small gift and snack area behind the reception counter. Not overly fashionable, but it blended better than her cocktail dress.

She got the clerk to call her a taxi, and once again she avoided home. Instead, she had the driver took her to the one place she had always gone when things went sideways for her in this city. The place where she would go to walk or sit or read on the weekends in the last ten years after Damon left when she missed him desperately. Where she sometimes even came just because she wanted to see something beautiful. The Town Hall Garden.

The taxi dropped her at the main entrance and she moved her way through the garden with a flood of tourists. Elena was grateful it was a Saturday. She wanted to be lost in the crowd, and camouflaged among the T-shirts, jeans, and ball caps that marked the out-of-town visitors.

The entire garden was amazing. She had probably walked every square inch of this place at some point in her life.

Today, she chose to sit beside the fountain facing the rose garden.

She had no idea how long she sat there, the familiar numbness sliding back into her bones. All Elena knew was that she had tuned out the world. And when she heard him, it was through a tunnel, and from a very long distance.

"Elena?" His fingertips brushed her shoulder. "Sweetheart, I'm here."

Damon.

His voice, his touch, his scent.

Elena shifted in her seat and looked up at him. He looked raw and more ragged than she felt. She had at least showered. Damon still wore the suit he had put on last night, although his collar was now open and the tie had been shoved into a pocket where it peeked out in a small splash of red.

"I don't want you here." It was a lie. It was the absolute worst of lies, because she did want him. But not like this. Not with the games and the deceit and everything he kept hidden.

"What you think you know," Damon said, "you don't."

"You are liar," Elena said, her words low and measured. "You lied to me. You bastard."

"Elena…"

"Was this always about my father? About Gilbert International?"

He shook his head. "It is not about your father. You are the reason I said yes to Dunham Lake."

Elena said nothing. Because what the hell was there for her to say?

"When this started," he continued, "I wanted to hurt you. You had left me. And to make it worse, I thought you had gone to Donovan. And so, help me, I wanted payback. I wanted to make you weak. To make you wild. That first night? I planned to make you need me so badly that I was like air to you. So fucking essential that losing me would destroy you."

Elena clenched her jaw and hugged herself, forcing herself not to spit out the acknowledgment that he had damn well achieved what he set out to do.

"And then, when I was your whole goddamn world, I was going to leave you. To have my revenge in the knowledge that you were burning in anger and loss."

She lifted her head so that she could see his eyes. She expected to see triumph. Instead, Elena saw regret. She saw tenderness, too, and because of that, she stayed despite the almost overpowering urge to spring to her feet and run.

"But all of that changed, Elena. I would rather die than hurt you. I thought I was strong; I'm not. I thought I was brave; I'm not. Because where you are concerned, I have no strength to leave, and even the thought of losing you breaks me completely."

"I guess you are going to have to get used to it," Elena said. "Because you have already lost me."

"Sweetheart—" His hand closed over her wrist and she ripped it away.

"You lied to me. After everything we have shared together. After all of myself that I have given to you. You lied to me."

"I didn't."

She pushed up to her feet. "Oh, Christ, Damon."

"Listen to me. No," Damon said, grabbing her hand as she started to walk away. "Listen."

She turned to face him, but she didn't sit down. Instead, she stood with her arms crossed over her chest and her jaw tight.

He stood as well, and then shoved his hands into his pockets. "I kept things from you, I did. Maybe more than I should."

"Gee. You think? Like maybe you should have mentioned you were scheming with Pastor Young?"

"I wasn't. But I do know him." Damon drew a breath and dragged his fingers through his hair. "Dammit, Elena. Pastor Young is my father."

Elena stumbled. She actually took a step backward, as if he had shoved at her with the palm of his hand.

"What?" she finally said, even though she was absolutely certain that she had heard him correctly.

"Pastor Young is my biological father." The words were flat, and it was very obvious that Damon was not particularly thrilled with his family tree.

Elena was not really sure how to process that, and so she sat down on the edge of the fountain again. After a moment, Damon sat beside her.

"Did anyone know?" she asked.

"Only Mum and Dad. I told you the truth about my family. I just didn't tell you about Pastor Young because I only found out last year."

"You should have." Elena tried to organize her thoughts, but this news was out of left field. "When I asked you about Pastor Young, and you didn't say a word."

"I'm sorry. Maybe I should have. I don't know." She could see the anguish on his face, but she didn't try to comfort him. She was too hurt. Too numb. "Don't you get it? It is a secret. It wasn't something I could just shout out."

"No," she said tightly. "I wouldn't know a thing about difficult secrets."

"Is that what this is? Tit for tat? You are punishing me because I lied to you about my biological father?"

"Punishing you?" she repeated. "You think I'm punishing you? This is not about your daddy issues, Damon. This is about trust."

"Do you trust me?"

She looked away from him. "I don't know."

Suddenly, she felt very tired.

Elena sighed. "I need to go home." Right then, she needed her house. Her bedroom. She needed to curl up on her bed and sleep.

"Come back to the boat with me. Please, Elena. We need to talk more. I don't want this to be the thing that breaks us. I don't want anything to come between the two of us, definitely not Pastor Young."

"He wasn't the one who kept secrets from me," she whispered. "That was you."

Elena saw the way her words made him flinched, and she almost took them back. But they were true, and so she simply shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said. "Maybe we do need to talk. But right now, I need to be alone."

She didn't give him time to answer. Instead, she just walked away, even though doing so left a hole in her heart.

x x x

Exhaustion pulled Elena under, and she slept through the rest of Saturday, and a good chunk of Sunday morning. The sun was high in the sky when she finally woke on her bed, twisted up in the blanket that she had pulled over herself.

She removed the blanket and stumbled out of bed. She felt achy and old, as if her body didn't want to function anymore.

And she really didn't want to be alone.

She took a hot shower, and that relieved some of her aches, but not the one inside her.

The truth was that it was Damon she had wanted, but she was not ready for that.

And so she called the only other person she could.

"Can I stay with you?" Elena asked the moment Caroline answered her phone.

"God, Elena, I should come over there and strangle you. Do you know how worried I have been? Why the hell didn't you answer your phone?"

"I'm sorry. I had it on silent. I just needed time."

Elena heard her sighed. "Sorry. I know. I get it. Listen, are you okay?"

"Yeah. I will survive. But I really don't want to be alone."

"I will be there in fifteen."

"I can drive."

"Are you a complete emotional wreck?"

Elena actually laughed, which felt nice. "Duh."

"Then you don't need to be driving. Stay there. I will be right over to get you."

True to Caroline's word, she was at the door by the time Elena had tossed some clothes into a duffel bag.

"And you broke how many traffic laws?" Elena asked as she pulled open the door.

Caroline didn't answer. Instead she tossed her arms around Elena and locked her in a hug.

"Come on. I will take good care of you."

"You sure it is okay?" Elena asked as they headed down to the driveway. "Klaus doesn't mind?"

Caroline waved her hand. "Oh, please. Of course not."

But Elena saw a shadow on her face, and it worried her.

She didn't get the chance to ask Caroline about it because they had reached her car.

"We will go back to my house first," Caroline said as she got inside the driver's side. "Then we can decide what we will do."

Elena smiled at Caroline as she got inside the car. "I love you."

"Well, yeah." Caroline grinned. "I'm very lovable. That's what Klaus said to me."

Elena laughed out loud and she did feel better.

"You should go to him," Caroline said as she started the engine.

"Can we drop the subject, please?"

"Okay."

Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of Caroline's house. "Seriously, you should go to him. Because he is really kind of a wreck," Caroline said, as if the conversation hadn't been interrupted at all.

"I'm kind of a wreck," Elena corrected. "And how do you know about Damon, anyway?"

"I talked to him," Caroline said as she got out of the car.

Elena froze. "When?"

"Yesterday. He came by Klaus' house after you left the park."

"He did?"

"He wanted my help."

"To find me?"

Caroline shot her a quick glance. "To figure out what to do."

"I—really?"

Caroline unlocked the door and they stepped inside. Elena put her duffel near the staircase before heading to the sofa and taking a seat.

"Why are you so surprised?" Caroline asked from the kitchen just a few feet away. She was uncorking some wine, and she brought it over along with two glasses.

"I don't know," Elena said honestly. "I guess because he is so self-sufficient."

Caroline lifted a shoulder. "But he is not," she said "From where I'm standing, I have to say he needs you."

Elena's heart twisted a little, then a little bit more when Caroline reached out and grabbed her hand. "He loves you, you know."

"Did he tell you that?"

"Nope. But I have got eyes."

The truth was, so did Elena. And before all of this, she would have said he loved her, too.

Now, knowing what he kept from her, she didn't know what to think.

"Pastor Young is his biological father," she blurted, surprising herself with her words.

"I know," Caroline said, and that surprised Elena even more. "He told me."

Caroline handed her a glass of wine. "He screwed up, Elena, I will grant you that. With all the stuff that happened between you two, he should have told you the truth when you asked him about Pastor Young."

"He really did tell you everything."

"Yeah, well. Like I said, he is gone on you." Caroline plopped down on the couch. "And since I happen to know it is mutual, I figured I should be a good little intermediary."

Mutual.

Caroline was right, of course. It was.

"He lied to me. He hurt me," Elena said. "He should have told me. Should have trusted me." But even as she said the words, she thought about the things she had kept from Damon, and she knew that she was not being fair.

The secret was his to keep, and it was huge. And how arrogant was it of her to believe that just because she asked, he had to shift his entire life around and spill everything to her?

"I need to see him," Elena said softly. "I do need to talk to him." She looked at Caroline. "He hurt me, and he pissed me off, but you are right. I love him. And I want to fix this."

Even as Elena said it, she knew that there were things that might not be fixable. This wasn't a secret that she could keep—and that, of course, was another reason Damon kept it to himself. Because this secret could affect her family, and Damon's father was a man who just might be screwing with Gilbert International.

John had to know the truth—and when he did, Elena was not sure if Damon would still have the project.

For that matter, when she thought about the breadth and scope of John's temper, she was not sure that she would, either.

But she could deal with that. So long as she had got Damon, they could figure out the rest together.

"Where is he? Did he say?"

An odd expression flitted across Caroline's face. "Um, listen. I should tell you something first."

Elena said nothing, but her stomach was twisting. Because Caroline was nervous—and that was just not typical Caroline's behaviour.

"What?" she demanded. "What the hell is going on?"

Caroline reached for the section of newspaper that sat on the coffee table, and then flipped it over, revealing an image of a handcuffed Damon standing beside a uniformed officer.

"Damon beat the shit out of Marko White," Caroline says. "He has been arrested for assault."

Elena paced the length of her house, waiting for Damon to show up, or Enzo to call, or anything at all to happen so that she knew what was going on.

She had called the police station as soon as Caroline had told her about the arrest, but since it was Sunday she was told that bail wasn't an option.

She had worked long enough in the commercial world to realize that there were times when "not an option" meant "not an option without money or power," and so she gave Enzo a call and begged his help.

Fortunately, he was home.

Also fortunately, Klaus had asked Alaric to help.

Both men told Elena to go home, and that, assuming they were able to get Damon released on bail today, they would drop him by her place.

So far, no Damon.

She pulled out her phone, pulled up Alaric's and Enzo's numbers, and for the eight millionth time that day, forced herself not to dial. They would call when they had news. She had to be patient and wait for the news.

But she hated being patient.

Elena paced three more lengths, and was about to just say "fuck it" and went to the station herself, when she heard the doorbell rang.

She practically fell over herself getting there, and when she yanked open the door and saw Damon standing there, his hair mussed, his beard scruffy, and his face battered and bruised, she was certain that she had never seen anything more beautiful.

She practically yanked him into her house, then wrapped her arms around him and they both sank to the floor.

"Elena. Oh, god, Elena." Damon repeated her name over and over, and she was lost in the sound of it, holding him tight, rocking him. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you who I was."

"No." Elena stroke his hair. "I was being bitchy and selfish. I don't have a right to your secrets, Damon. And I did more than just get my feelings hurt. I threw a tantrum, and I'm so, so sorry."

He lifted his head and kissed her. "I'm the one who is sorry. I shouldn't have lied to you."

"What happened between Marko and you?" she asked.

He sighed. "I lost control. After you left the park, I didn't know what t do. I went to Caroline, hoping she could tell me what to do. Then I went to the Destiny. Marko was there."

"Did you find out he was the one behind the movie about the Santa Fe house?"

Damon nodded. "I told him I would never help him with the movie. Things went bad unfortunately."

"You shouldn't have gone after him," Elena said softly. "He is not worth it."

"I'm sorry."

"It is okay."

He met her eyes, and Elena saw relief in his.

"Did you think I would be angry?"

"Not exactly the civilized approach to problem-solving," he said with a wry grin.

"No. Not at all."

"I'm not angry," Elena said. "But you shouldn't have done it. Marko will press charges. That is the kind of guy he is."

"Alaric will help me. You don't have to worry."

"But I do worry about you. You attacked him because of the movie, and everyone is going to start poking into it. So far you have only had good press. Bad press can sting."

He ran his fingers through his hair, and Elena could see that the thought troubled him. "I will do what I have to do," he said. "But whatever happens, Marko is not going to make that movie."

"I know." She drew a breath, because there was more. And although she hated to be the bearer of bad tidings, she had to say it, just in case he hadn't thought of it already. "This may screw up the resort project, too. I promise you John won't be happy that his architect is now in the gossip rags. Especially when he already isn't sure he trusts you."

Damon said nothing, and so she decided to soldier on. "And you have to tell him the rest of it, too. Or I do. And he may not be too happy about the fact that you didn't say you are related to Pastor Young. I'm sorry," she added. "But that is not the kind of thing I can keep from him. Not if I expect to keep the resort."

"I would never ask you to lie for me," he said. "And I know the risks. But I will make you a promise—no matter what it takes, you won't lose the resort. If I have to, I will go head-to-head with John."

"Do you want to talk about your Daddy issues?"

"Not now, Elena."

Elena nodded.

The rather unpleasant thought that Damon was Pastor Young's son slid into her mind. Pastor Young was her father's competitor when they ran the campaigns at the same time. He was also a business competitor of Gilbert International. But the thought that Damon would help Pastor Young to get his hands on Gilbert International was so disagreeable that she shoved it aside. She trusted Damon. He wouldn't do anything to hurt her.

"At the moment I don't care about Pastor Young or the resort," Damon said after a short silence. "The only thing I care about is you. The only thing I want is you. Tell me I didn't fuck this up. Tell me I didn't lose you."

"How could you lose me when we just found each other again?"

His eyes stayed on her for a moment, and then he pulled her close and kissed her gently. "I'm going to make love to you now," he said, then lifted her in his arms and took her to the bedroom.

He undressed her, tending to her and stroking her as he removed each piece of clothing until she was naked and on fire, wanting nothing more than the feel of this man upon her and inside her.

Damon didn't wait, and they made love slowly and sweetly, but with no less passion than when he had taken her wildly. There was tenderness to his movements. A precision in the way he thrusts inside her. And never once did his eyes left hers.

When Elena saw the tempest rising in that vibrant blue, she arched up, seeking more contact, wanting to go over with him, wanting to spin off into time and space with this man who had made her felt awake and alive and found. And when the explosion did come, she shattered with him, every piece of them coming together in a perfect union before they drifted back down, gasping as they returned to reality.

"Elena," Damon murmured, and her name on his lips was as sweet as honey, and as potent as making love.

Elena kissed him, and then stretched with satisfaction, contented when he pulled her close and she cradled her head upon his chest.

She felt alive and warm. And though Damon had never spoken the words, she felt loved.

She tilted her head up so that she could look at the face of this man who filled her heart and head.

Damon looked back at her with such tenderness that she feared she would cry, and when he bent to kiss her forehead a small tear of happiness really did trickle down her cheek.

Elena smiled, satisfied.

She might not know all his secrets. And she could not know the future.

But she did see the now.

And for Elena, for Damon, right now was enough…

Damon stood beside the bed and looked down at her. At the woman who made his heart beat faster and his blood burn.

She calmed him. Centred him. She filled his heart and his world.

She made him a better man—he knew that. Believed it. Hell, he cherished it.

And god help him, he cherished her, too. He had been dead those ten years without her, and he hadn't even realized it. But he was alive again, and it was because of her.

Careful not to wake her, he slid into bed. His heart twisted as she moved in sleep to seek him out, and then nuzzled against him, skin to skin.

Christ, what she did to him.

He brushed his hand over her hair, and then played his fingertips over her shoulder. She had put her trust in him. And he knew that he had to do the same. But damned if the thought didn't rip him to shreds.

He wanted to stay like this forever, lost in the dark, in the place between dusk and dawn, where reality felt like a dream, and he could believe that everything was possible, and that all stories had happy endings.

But there were things he had to do. Dark places he needed to visit. Battles that he must fight.

Secrets he had to protect.

He sighed and held her close, letting himself slide down into the soft comfort of sleep. There was nothing else to be done. Not really, not then.

Instead, all he could do was hold her close and hope that, in fighting to be the man he must, that he wouldn't lose the one person who had finally made him whole.

"Sometimes families have secrets," Giuseppe had said.

Wasn't that the truth?

Pastor Young was his biological father.

Damon thought it was the worst joke on earth when he found out last year. Lillian was already pregnant with Pastor's child when she married Giuseppe Salvatore. Pastor Young was from one of the most prominent families in Richmond and he was already married when he met Lillian. He would become a social outcast if he divorced his wife who was also from a prominent family in Richmond. And Pastor had always wanted to involve in politics. Divorce and affairs were bad news in politics.

Who would have guessed that Pastor was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma last year? He wanted to have some time with his only son before he died.

How ironic was that?

Pastor felt guilty because he was dying. He had regrets because he was dying.

It was hard for Damon to accept Pastor when he learnt about the truth. Obviously he and Lillian didn't matter enough to Pastor. In Damon's opinion, the only person that mattered to Pastor, was himself because he was selfish.

How could he have a father who was so selfish?

Father.

His father.

Hell, that was something he didn't want to say. Hell, he would avoid saying it for his entire life.

Sometimes life sucked, Damon thought.

Life sucked because it was so unpredictable.

Damon thought about how quickly things had changed. A month ago, he would have rather eaten nails than worked for Gilbert International. But then Elena had approached him with the kind of project that is any architect's wet dream. To design a resort from the ground up. And not just any resort, but one located on a beautiful lake. And she was handing him a blank slate.

The overture had surprised him for a number of reasons, not the least of which being that ten years ago she had ripped a hole in his heart, when she brutally and permanently ended things between them.

The loss had devastated him, and he had eased his anger in the ring and in his work. Winning—and losing—fight after fight. Burying himself in his commissions, his reputation growing as his projects became more and more ambitious.

Work may have been his saviour, but working for her—hell, working for Gilbert International—was not something he was prepared to do. He knew damn well he couldn't bear the pain of being around Elena. Of working so intimately with her.

But revenge was a powerful motivator.

So he had said yes, fully intending to take her to the edge of pleasure. To reclaim her. To bind her so close to him that she could see no one else, feel no one else, dream of no one else. And then, when she was stuck fast in his web, he would clip the strands and walk away, leaving the resort to flounder, and leaving Elena exactly the way that she had left him, drowning in pain and loss and misery.

Dear god, he had been a fool.

He had accepted the offer to design The Resort at Dunham Lake for the worst of reasons. To hurt the woman who had hurt him.

Now the woman meant the world to him, and he would enthusiastically destroy anyone who hurt her.

Now the job was his passion, a project that was already fully formed in his imagination and sketches.

But his secret could, in one quick, violent motion, tear the world out from under Damon's feet.

All because he wanted a job.

All because he loved a woman.


	16. Chapter 16

_MYSTIC FALLS 2007_

 _You are not being true to yourself._

For the rest of the night and into the next day, Damon's words ran through Elena's head over and over, like some horrible children's ditty that had turned into a pernicious earworm.

 _You are not being true to yourself._

At first Elena was pissed. She paced and she managed not to throw things, but only because she liked all the things that were in her bedroom.

So, she worked off her anger by burning calories, stalking wildly around the house, muttering to herself like a madwoman and making up some pretty damn fine curses in the process.

 _You are not being true to yourself._

Then she sat. And she tried to watch television in order to drown out the annoying little voice that kept popping into her head, telling her that Damon was right.

But the voice was too loud and Elena couldn't concentrate. Not on CNN, not on streaming episodes of Buffy. Not even on the fine figure of Gordon Ramsay cursing out all those little chef wannabes.

 _You are not being true to yourself._

Goddamn Damon Salvatore.

He was right.

He was right, but she was scared to change. She wanted Damon and she was in love with him. But she was afraid to admit it. She was afraid of her relationship with Damon would change if she had declared her love for him.

This was a summer fling, wasn't it? She wanted to get Damon out of her system and that was the reason she had went to Destiny that day.

No, it was not true. She wanted more than just a fling. She wanted to be loved by Damon.

 _You are not being true to yourself._

Yeah, wasn't that the understatement of the year? And it had only taken falling in love to make her finally saw it.

"Miss Gilbert?

Elena was in her bedroom, standing by the window, looking out over the garden, although she wasn't really seeing it. Now she turned in response to Maria's voice. "Yes?"

"Can I bring you anything? You should eat some lunch."

"I'm not hungry."

"You didn't have breakfast." Maria paused. "Is there something I can help you with, perhaps?"

"No." Maria couldn't help her, and she was having one hell of a time helping herself. For that matter, she was having a hell of a time getting her head on straight.

Elena knew what she wanted—she wanted to stay. She wanted Damon. She wanted a commitment.

She wanted to be true to herself. But she was scared of stepping off the path she had paved for herself. And she was terrified of disappointing her parents.

"Mr and Mrs Gilbert are back," Maria added. "They want to see you."

Elena glanced at her watch. It was unusual for her parents to be back home so early. "Where are they?"

"They are in the study room." Maria hesitated. "Mr Gilbert is in a bad mood. I haven't seen him like that before."

She was still pondering what had happened when she walked into the study room a few minutes later and the tone of her father's voice startled her.

"I said I will take care of it."

Her father was on the phone.

"Don't do anything. Is that clear? Just sit tight. I will handle this."

She listened as Grayson hung up the phone with far too much care. Her heart sank at the realization that something was terribly wrong. Did something happen to Gilbert International? Or did something go wrong with her father's campaign?

Taking a deep breath, Elena made herself go slowly into the study room. She walked into the study room and saw her father standing beside the phone. His face was an emotionless mask. Both John and her mother were leaning against the windowsills.

"Dad?"

"We have got a problem."

Elena went cold. "What kind of problem?"

"He wants money this time. I can scrape that together. But it will be more next time, won't it? That's always the way it is with this sort of thing. It will never end."

Elena's stomach plummeted down a very deep mine shaft. "I don't understand."

"No? It is pretty damn obvious to me. We are being blackmailed."

Elena was aghast. "Why would anyone blackmail you, Dad?"

"Damn it, Elena, what the hell is going on?" John's voice was dangerously soft.

Elena stared at John, stunned. "I don't know. I don't know what's going on."

"Are you seeing Damon Salvatore?" John asked.

"What?" Elena was stunned. "What has Damon got to do with this?"

"Your father suspects the Salvatore and the Mikaelson are behind the blackmail," Miranda said. "They want your father to quit the campaign."

"Oh, no." Elena shook her head wildly. "No, no, no. Blackmail? Impossible. Damon won't do anything like that."

John's jaw tightened. "He is a Salvatore. The Salvatore men are slick and dangerous. They will do anything to get what they want."

Elena flinched. "Absolutely not. I refuse to believe it. Damon cares about me."

"Damn it, Elena. You can't trust him. He is using you," Grayson said through set teeth. "You have to stop seeing him!"

Miranda went to Elena. "Darling, you have to listen to your father…"

Elena shook her head again. "Don't try to tell me my friend is a blackmailer. Because I refuse to believe it."

Grayson's mouth twisted derisively. "Have you ever met a blackmailer?"

"Well, no," Elena admitted, annoyed by her father's condescending tone. "But somehow I think I would know one if I saw one."

"Yeah? What would he look like?"

"Well, for starters, he would be a weasely looking character with shifty eyes and very low self-esteem."

"This isn't a joke, Elena," Miranda said. "This is a serious problem. Someone is trying to blackmail your father."

"Now wait a minute." Elena frowned as a thought struck her. "Dad has always been a successful businessman with good reputation. There is nothing suitable for blackmail purposes, is there?"

John and Grayson exchanged looks but said nothing.

Miranda's mouth tightened. "It is personal matter."

Elena did not take her eyes off her father's face. "Explain."

"Okay." Grayson exhaled slowly. "You have the right to know."

"I'm listening."

"I would have made a great governor." Rage leaped in Grayson's eyes. "And an even greater president. This state needed me. This country needed me. But now, because of the Salvatore and Mikaelson, everything is finished."

Elena didn't like what she was hearing but she needed to know. She gathered herself. "What have you done, Dad?"

"Politics are expensive," John explained. "All your father requires is money. Lots of it."

Understanding hit Elena in a sickening wave. "And you are going to need a lot of money if you go for the White House, aren't you? For God's sake, don't tell me you somehow steal money from someone else?"

Grayson smiled grimly. "It was a perfect scheme. Both Logan and Richard agreed that it was perfect."

Elena stared at her father. "Logan Fell and the mayor are involved? This is crazy."

Grayson's jaw tightened. "It would work. The Salvatore and the Mikaelson ruin everything."

"Why do you keep blaming them?"

"Because they are the blackmailers!" Sudden rage infused Grayson's voice. "They are the one I'm worried about. Everyone else could be managed."

"So, what are you going to do?" Elena asked uneasily.

"I'm going to terminate the campaign." Grayson smiled tightly. He had the rage back under control. "Richard and Logan think this is the best way to save ourselves."

Alarm flashed through Miranda. "Grayson, I'm not sure that's such a good idea…"

"We were so close. So damned close," John said bitterly. "Are you sure you want to do this, brother?"

"We have no idea how much the Salvatore or the Mikaelson knows about our scheme," Grayson said. "I will be ruined if they start talking. We have to play it safe."

"Wait," Miranda said quickly. "Grayson, I don't want you to do anything rash."

"There isn't any other viable option." Grayson looked at his wife. "Politics is a lot like any other business. You have to know when to cut your losses."

"Sure," John said. "I can see the parallels."

Grayson looked at Elena. "You have to stay away from Damon Salvatore."

Elena's eyes widened. "Why?"

Grayson did not take his eyes off his daughter. "I'm doing what I have to do to save our family. Don't you understand, Elena? I have a duty to this family. If you continue seeing Damon, you will ruin us. You will ruin our family. I have already given up the campaign. I can't risk losing my family."

A sudden hush gripped the room. Elena looked at Grayson's stark face and felt colder than ever. She could see the pain in him very clearly now. Every word that was being spoken was a knife thrust that cut to the bone.

Tears stung Elena's eyes. It was like being on board the Titanic, knowing what was going to happen but being unable to stop the impending disaster.

"Elena, sweetheart." Miranda reached out to touch her arm. "Listen to your father, please."

Elena exhaled slowly. "I want to be alone for a moment."

She strode towards the door, trying hard not to cry in front of her parents.

"The Salvatore has done this to us." John was almost hopping up and down in his agitation. "It is all their fault."

Elena wrenched open the door and vanished into the hall.

"Elena, wait." Miranda started forward but Grayson stopped her.

"She knows what is the best for our family," Grayson said. "She will know what to do."

x x x

Elena knew she had to see Damon.

She took the car and drove to the Salvatore boarding house but he wasn't there and his housekeeper had no idea where he was.

She pulled out her cell phone and almost dialled. But she didn't want to give Damon the opportunity to tell her to stay away.

Destiny. Damon must be at the Destiny, she thought.

Elena hoped like hell he was there, because if he wasn't, she was all out of ideas. And while she had reached the point of begging Klaus for help, she really didn't want to go that route unless it was absolutely necessary.

She didn't see Damon's car as she drove up, but she also didn't have a full view of the rear parking lot. Then she stepped inside, paid her cover—this time to a petite brunette—and pushed through the doors into the main room.

It looked just the same as it had before. The girls were still dancing. The men were still watching. Everything seemed exactly the same as it had been the last time Elena had been here. The only thing that had changed was her.

"I know you."

Elena glanced up to see a familiar blonde in a tiny miniskirt and nothing else.

It took her a second, but she finally recognized the blonde as the girl who had worked the entrance her last time here. "Hi," she said. "I'm looking for Damon."

"Again?"

"Excuse me?"

The blonde shrugged. "He is in a meeting right now," the girl said, and Elena silently cheered. At least he was somewhere on the premises.

"I will just wait at the bar." Elena took a step in that direction, and the girl fell in beside her

"Um, is that okay?"

Instead of answering, she looked Elena up and down. "So you are the flavour of the month."

Elena blinked at her. "Excuse me?"

"It is just that he fucks a lot of women. None of us, of course. Rules and all that shit. But he brings them here. Gets them all hot, you know?"

Elena didn't say a word.

"Anyway, the point is it never lasts. I mean, I'm not telling you anything you didn't already know, am I? He was up front, right? About the fact that you are just a temporary thing."

Elena swore there were giant rocks just sitting in her stomach. "Is there some reason we are having this conversation?" It was surreal. She was sitting at a barstool talking about sleeping with Damon to a woman whose breasts were only inches from her face. What the hell was wrong with that picture?

The girl shrugged. "Consider me a walking, talking public service announcement. Because if he didn't tell you, then you should know. Because Damon will never settle down for a woman. He will never be satisfied with one woman."

"I know," Elena said, sliding off the stool. "And I know that I need to go talk to him now."

The girl didn't try to stop her as she went through the same door that Damon had taken her through the last time she was here. She remembered seeing offices back there, and since she didn't have a better idea, she assumed that he was in one of them.

Elena pushed through, found no one on the other side to stop her, and kept on going.

 _Damon will never settle down for a woman._

What the hell?

And did that mean that Damon only see her as a fling—or was the blond bitch the liar?

But did it matter now?

Elena shook her head, trying to stay calm.

She heard voices from behind the closed conference room door, and she paused, her head cocked as she tried to discern if Damon's voice was among them.

Then the door jerked open—Damon was right there—and Elena jumped so high she almost bumped her head on the ceiling.

"Elena?"

"Holy crap, Damon," she shouted, more because she was embarrassed at getting caught than because she was actually scared.

Behind him, Elena saw Klaus and Alaric at a conference table that was covered with blueprints and technical drawings and all sorts of sketches.

They all three looked frazzled. And none of them looked happy to see her.

"What are you doing here?" Damon said.

Elena swallowed, feeling like she had been tossed into the middle of the school play, but no one had told her the lines. This wasn't the way she had imagined this.

Now she wondered if Damon had even missed her at all.

Now she wondered if what her parents said were true.

"I made a mistake," she said, forcing the word out past the tears in her throat. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come."

Elena caught a flash of worry in his eyes, but she didn't have time to think about it. She turned and ran toward the back door, then pushed through it and out into the bright afternoon sun.

Immediately, she knew she had screwed up. The building was huge, and if she was going to get to the street, she had to go all the way around it. "Damn," she snapped, even though she was the only one to hear it. She had to do something to get out of there, because she couldn't stay. But she also couldn't really move, because the tears had started to flow, and the world was blurry, and all she wanted to do was sit down on the asphalt and cry until everything stopped hurting.

"Baby."

Damon's arms went around her, strong and firm, and though she wanted to shake them off, Elena let him hold her as she made her way down to the curb where the sidewalk met the parking lot.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing here?"

She pulled away from him, but then she had to hug herself, because as soon as his arms were no longer around her, she felt lost again.

"Elena? Jesus, Elena, talk to me. You are starting to scare me."

Elena sucked in a deep, stuttering breath, pushed her hair off her face, and turned to face him. "Why don't we eat at your place tonight? I can cook for dinner."

His eyes widened, and he said very slowly and very carefully. "You want to have dinner at my place."

"Yes."

"You appeared to have some hesitation in putting forth your invitation. Was it such a big deal to ask me to have dinner with you?"

"Had to work up my courage."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I was afraid you would turn me down."

His hands closed over her shoulders. "Look at me," he said.

Elena hesitated, then slowly looked at his eyes. She saw warmth in his face. Warmth and desire and what looked remarkably like happiness. She thought she might have even seen love.

And then, without warning or pretence, Damon leaned in and kissed her so gently it almost made her cry.

"Come on," he said after he pulled away. He twined his fingers in hers and started to walk toward his car.

"Where are we going?"

"Going to the supermarket," Damon said. "I don't have a lot of food at home."

x x x

Having suggested the idea, Elena was suddenly determined to dazzle Damon with as much glamour as she could, and she spent more than an hour in the kitchen preparing for dinner. The candles were already lit on the dining table when she walked into the dining room, the fire was burning brightly on the grate, and Damon was standing at the table, opening a bottle of champagne. She caught her breath at how handsome he looked in his black shirt and denims. The thought of him hating her forever after tonight made her feel like crying.

"Dinner is ready," she said with a bright smile, trying to banish the bleak mood settling over her.

Damon looked up, his eyes riveting on her, and the champagne he was pouring began to spill over the side of the glass. "Dinner smells really good. You are an amazing cook."

"You are spilling the champagne," she said softly.

He swore under his breath, jerked the bottle upright, and reached for a dish towel to mop it up.

"Damon?"

"What?" he said ruefully over his shoulder, picking up the glasses.

"You look as good as the dinner tonight."

The glamour of his sudden white smile made it clear he was pleased by her compliment. "Really? I thought you are the one who is good enough to be eaten," he joked.

Elena put the plates on the table. "You have to finish the main course before you have your dessert."

"Can't we go straight to dessert?"

She laughed. "No."

Damon lowered himself into the sofa next to Elena and handed one of the glasses to her.

"Dinner is lovely," he said as he took a sip of his bourbon.

Elena smiled faintly. "I'm glad you like it."

Damon thought about the creamy garlic scallop pasta with bacon he had just finished. "It is delicious. A taste of heaven," he said softly.

"Thanks."

Damon was well aware that her mood had been disintegrating during their meal. There was an indefinable tension and a grimness in her features that were becoming more pronounced as the evening wore on.

"Elena." He put his hand on her arm. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything is okay." She lied and took another sip of her wine before she set the glass on the coffee table. "Everything is fine."

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

She raised her brows but said nothing.

"I shouldn't have said something like that the other night," he said. "You have always wanted to go to Whitmore. It's your dream. I should be more supportive."

"Forget it. It doesn't matter."

"No." Damon put his glass on the table. "It does matter. You matter a lot to me. I feel very much alive these days." He smiled faintly. "I haven't felt this alive in years. And it's all because of you."

He reached for Elena and pulled her into his arms. The explosive passion in him inundated her. She was caught up by the tide of masculine energy and power. It swept her away on a great wave of surging excitement.

"Damon."

"You can't even imagine how good this feels. How good my name sounds when you say it like that." Damon fell back against the sofa cushions, taking Elena with him. "How good it is to want a woman as much as I want you."

"Kiss me, Damon." Elena sprawled across his bare chest and twisted her hands in his hair. The urgency in him unlocked a tumultuous need deep within her. She was hot and breathless with it.

Damon kissed her hungrily on the mouth. The kiss grew deeper, until she was shuddering in response. Then his lips slid down to her throat. He tugged off the T–shirt she wore. When the shirt fell to the floor, he pushed the hem of her skirt to her waist and cupped her buttocks. His fingers sank eagerly into her skin, squeezing gently.

Elena sucked in her breath. She felt his leg shift beneath her. He raised his knee. The rough fabric of his jeans slid along the inside of her thighs, burning her skin, opening her to his touch. The bulge of his confined erection throbbed against her belly.

"This feels damn good," Damon muttered. "I want you now. Before I lose my mind."

She smiled down at him.

He sat up abruptly, picked her up in his arms and rolled to his feet beside the sofa. Elena kissed his jaw and neck.

Damon rounded the arm of the sofa and took two strides toward the hall. He stopped, groaning. "Hell, I'm not going to make it as far as the bedroom."

He set Elena on her feet. She could barely stand. She braced herself against the back of the sofa, a hand on either side of herself, seeking support. Metal scraped on metal, the sound of a zipper being lowered.

She pushed hair out of her eyes and was instantly riveted by the sight of Damon's heavily aroused body.

"I want to be inside you." His voice was a harsh whisper. His gaze was stark with sensual hunger.

He crowded close, moving between her legs. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lifted her.

Elena gasped and clutched the back of the sofa more tightly. He held her eyes in an unbreakable bond as he drove himself deeply into her. She arched and cried out softly as he became a part of her. Her head fell back. He kissed her throat, tightened his grip on her hips and began to move within her. The urgency in him fuelled her own need. She felt the fantastic curling sensation grip her lower body. Instinctively she clenched herself around him. Her nails dug into the fabric of the sofa.

"Put your legs around me," Damon muttered against her throat. "Hold on tight. Yes. Just like that. Like that, oh, God, yes." He shifted one hand to the small throbbing bud between her legs.

She screamed softly as the small convulsions began. Damon went rigid as his climax tore through him an instant later. Elena felt his body shudder again and again.

She would never forget about him. Never.

A long time later Damon opened one eye when he felt Elena edge out from under his arm. "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving." Elena sat up and reached for her T-shirt and skirt.

"You can stay here tonight."

Elena said nothing while she put on her skirt and T-shirt.

Damon narrowed his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

She took a deep breath and whirled to face him. "You said I do matter to you."

"Yes."

"And you are willing to do anything for me?" she asked very softly.

"Yes."

"Really?"

He stood up and grabbed her shoulders. "Whatever you need, baby, I promise. You only have to ask."

"Damon, I—I need you to leave me. I need you to walk away and to never look back."

He could not seem to breathe. "What?"

"I said, let go of me." She tugged at his hands.

Damon released her. "Damn it, Elena. What the hell?"

"Let me go, Damon. I have changed my mind. I don't want to see you anymore."

His eyes glowered with anger. "Care to explain?"

"I'm eighteen and you are twenty-five. I'm going to college soon. I have a new life ahead. You and I don't work."

Damon's jaw tightened. "You and I don't work?" Damn it to hell, Damon thought. For some reason that was the last straw. "You thought we don't work?"

"Well, yes." She reached for her bag and ran for the door.

"Elena, wait." Damon started forward.

"I wouldn't wait one single minute for you, Damon Salvatore." Elena whirled around to face him.

"What does it mean?" he demanded.

"You and I don't work. You go your way and I will go mine from this moment onwards."

Damon felt as if she had slapped him, but his wounded pride forced his chin up. "You are right," he said with quiet dignity. "It is time to return to reality."


	17. Chapter 17

_MYSTIC FALLS 2017_

Damon tossed back the last of his bourbon, slammed the glass down on the polished granite bar, and considered ordering another.

He could use it—that was damn sure—but probably better to have a clear head before he went to answer John Gilbert's summons.

Secrets were hard to keep.

Who would have guessed Damon Salvatore was not Giuseppe's son?

By tomorrow John Gilbert would know.

Damn.

He held up his hand to get the bartender's attention because, screw it, right now he really could use another drink.

The bartender nodded, poured two fingers of bourbon, neat, and then slid the glass to Damon. He hesitated, bar rag in hand, until Damon finally looked up and met his eyes. "Something else?" Damon asked.

The bartender, whose name tag identified him as Phil, hesitated before asking, "Do you want something to eat, Mr Salvatore? We can fix you a snack."

"I'm not hungry."

"Okay. Let me know if you want something later."

Damon nodded and took another sip of his bourbon. He wasn't interested in food. He only wanted alcohol. He wanted to be numbed. He didn't want to think.

He had always been proud to be a Salvatore. Giuseppe was a wonderful father. Damon respected him and he had sworn to be like his father when he grew up. And that's what he had done. He had emulated his father's overblown wealthy-white-man sense of privilege. His sense of destiny and entitlement. Of course he should get what he wanted. Of course he deserved the best. He was Giuseppe Salvatore's son, after all.

And he found out who his father was. Pastor Young.

Damon would never forget the day when he was told the truth.

"I thought it would be best if we all get together like this, so I could clarify everything to everyone at once."

Pastor Young addressed the group assembled in his hospital room. Damon was curious about why he was being asked to see Pastor in the hospital. He was even more curious when he saw Giuseppe and Lillian there.

"What I'm going to say next," Pastor said, "is not easy to talk about."

"Tell him everything, Pastor," Lillian said softly. "Don't leave out anything on my account. I want him, need him, to understand."

Pastor leaned back and rested his head on the pillow. "Lillian and I fell in love years ago," he stated bluntly. "It was something neither of us predicted or wanted, particularly. We didn't set out to make it happen. It was wrong, but it was powerful. We eventually surrendered to it." He sighed. "But I couldn't marry her. I just couldn't."

"But I was pregnant." Lillian looked at Damon. "I was pregnant with you."

Damon's eyes widened. "What?"

Tall and distinguished, Giuseppe was standing beside Lillian's chair, a hand on her shoulder. "Your mother was pregnant with you but Pastor couldn't marry her because he was already married." His fingers flexed on her shoulder. "At Pastor's request, I looked after Lillian," he said. "But as time went by, the relationship between Lillian and me had grown way beyond friendship or simple mutual attraction. Therefore we decided to get married."

"You are joking, right?" Damon asked. He couldn't believe what he was listening.

"We are not joking," Giuseppe said.

"And that makes it even more ridiculous. I'm your son, Dad. I'm a Salvatore."

Tears welled in Lillian's eyes as she looked at her older son. "I love you, Damon. I love you so much. But I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

"No, no." Damon shook his head wildly. "This is ridiculous."

"I know I could never marry Lillian," Pastor said, continuing the story. "Giuseppe is a great man. I trust him. I know he would look after you and your mother."

Damon was silent. Overwhelmed. Angry.

"Damn you," Damon snapped. "Damn you, Pastor Young. How could you do that?"

"Your father's political career was starting at that time," Giuseppe explained. "He couldn't risk anything to destroy his career. His relationship with Lillian would be a scandal. I love your mother and I couldn't risk her being a laughing stock."

"This is crazy," Damon said. "The three of you are crazy."

"Your mother didn't have a choice," Giuseppe said. "Neither of us did."

"When I could, I came to see you, Damon," Pastor said to his son. "From a careful distance, never getting close enough to risk exposing this secret. I watched you play football a few times. I was at your graduation. I never stopped loving you."

"We want you to grow up as a normal child. We want you to have the best of everything," Lillian said, bowing her head and sniffing into a Kleenex.

Damon backed into the wall and leaned his head against the pastel plaster. "You want me to grow up normally. Then why the hell are you telling me about this now? Why?"

Lillian left her chair and went to Damon. "Darling, forgive me."

"Forgive you?"

"We don't want to lie to you," she explained. "We want you to be happy."

"We love you, son," Giuseppe said, also coming to his feet. "You will always be my son."

Damon stubbornly shook his head. "I still can't believe it! I'm not your son. I'm not a Salvatore!"

"It is my fault," Pastor said. "I'm selfish. I want to spend more time with you because I'm dying. The doctor told me I have metastatic melanoma. I would probably be dead by end of the year."

Lillian started crying again and Giuseppe reached for her hand and pressed it between his.

Damon felt bad for his mother, he did, but he couldn't believe she had lied to him all these years. "Is that all, Mr Young? Am I free to go? I still have some business to attend to."

Damon closed his eyes and thought of Elena. Her small, slim body that felt so right in his arms. Her long dark brown hair, making her face seem luminous. Christ, he wanted her beside him now. Wanted to twine his fingers with hers and hold her close. He wanted her strength, though she didn't even realize how strong she was.

But this was something he had to do alone. And she couldn't help him.

He slid off the stool, and then dropped a fifty on the bar. "Keep the change," he said, as Phil's eyes went wide.

He left the bar, moving quickly to his car at the parking lot. John's assistant, Jules had called Damon half an hour ago. "Mr Gilbert wants to see you" she had said. "And he wants to see you tomorrow at eight sharp before the regular Tuesday briefing."

"About the resort?" He had asked the question casually, as if he couldn't imagine any other reason that John would want to see him.

"He didn't say. But I thought—I mean, I assumed—" He heard her draw a deep breath before her voice dropped to a stage whisper. "Well, don't you think it's probably about the arrest? And all the press coverage?"

He shook his head at the memory, half-irritated and half-amused.

If this was only about work, he would have waited until morning and gone at the appointed time. But this was personal, and he needed to do it now.

Damon was a fighter, and he would do whatever was necessary to be the man left standing. He wouldn't give up easily without a battle.

x x x

Damon rapped the polished brass knocker three times. While waiting for it to be answered, he braced himself. For what, he didn't know. He tried mentally and physically to prepare himself for anything. An attacking Doberman? A formidable housekeeper?

Surprisingly, the door was opened by John Gilbert himself. He was dressed in suit trousers, shirt, and tie but wasn't wearing his jacket. He was holding a glass of wine in his hand.

"I'm sorry to intrude but I want to talk to you," Damon said.

"You were supposed to be at my office at eight."

"I want to talk now," Damon insisted.

John mulled that over for several seconds, and then said tersely, "Fine." He turned and motioned for Damon to follow.

The room to which he led them off the central foyer was a well-furnished and tastefully decorated home study. Damon had wished he could have more to drink because John was not alone. Grayson was pacing in front of the wall of windows.

And there was Elena, perched on the edge of an ottoman, a file in her hand.

Her back was to him and she was so engrossed in her work that she hadn't seen him yet. For a moment, he could only stare. He had left her only hours ago, naked in her bed, and he hadn't expected to see her again until this ordeal with John was finished. So the sight of her now was a shock to his senses, and for a moment he could only stand like an idiot, his lips pressed together so he didn't call out her name. His feet planted so he didn't go to her. His hands at his sides so he didn't reach out to touch her

He must have made a noise, or maybe she just sensed his presence as strongly as he felt hers, because she turned her head suddenly and her mouth formed into a perfect little O even as her pen tumbled from her hand.

"Damon! What are you doing here? I thought…" She frowned as she cut off her words.

He understood her dilemma. When he had left her house, he had told her where he was going but he didn't tell her that he was going to see John.

Now here he was, and they were both surprised.

"Damon has something he wants to talk with me about tonight." John's words filtered into Damon's head, and he realized that he had been so absorbed in watching Elena that he had tuned out everything else around him. "Since Elena and you are around," John said to Grayson, "I think it may be a good idea we meet up."

Grayson turned from the window, smiling at John as he did. But the smile faded when his eyes met Damon's. "I thought you are meeting John in the morning."

"That's when the appointment is," Damon said. "But there are things we should talk about now."

Grayson studied Damon a minute, and then nodded. "All right." He moved across the room towards Elena and held out his hand for something. Her eyes cut quickly to Damon, and he could see the tension in her shoulders before she reached for an electronic tablet that sat near her on the coffee table.

He wondered if Grayson noticed the way her fingers shook just slightly as she navigated over the tablet screen. But she held it together.

What she didn't do was look at Damon.

After a moment, she passed the tablet to Grayson. He glanced at it, and then handed it to Damon. "You have had an interesting few days," he said as Damon looked down at the photo of him being led away in handcuffs.

Damon swiped his finger across the surface and scrolled through the rest of the images. News coverage from all over the country. Most focused entirely on him—Starchitect Damon Salvatore arrested!—but some tied Grayson and The Resort at Dunham Lake in to the story.

He kept his posture straight and his face impassive. If Grayson thought he was going to get a rise out of Damon by showing him the coverage that Damon had already seen, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

"Did you come here to tell me why you spent a perfectly fine Saturday evening beating the shit out of some film producer?"

Damon cocked his head at the pejorative, but in response said only, "No. I really didn't."

Grayson's brow lifted almost imperceptibly, and Damon stiffened, prepared to accept the brunt of Grayson's temper. But all Grayson did was tilt his head, glance towards John, then nod. "Fair enough." He gestured toward an armchair. "Have a seat."

"I'm fine standing. Thanks."

"Have it your way." Grayson returned to the window, and then stood with his back to the room. From Damon's position, he could see Grayson's face reflected in the glass. "This has the potential to turn into a disaster," Grayson said. "A public relations nightmare. I'm surprised we don't already have the damn tabloid reporters camped out in front of the building."

Damon said nothing. Grayson was right, so what was there to say?

"They have called me. Hell, they have called Elena," he added, and Damon immediately turned to Elena. Her eyes flicked to his, sad and a little lost, before she looked down again at her hands. She hadn't told him the press had contacted her, and that new reality made his stomach twist.

"'No comment' is the official response of this office," Grayson continued. He turned to face Damon, his eyes burning into him. "But it is only going to get worse. That is the bad news. The good news is that scandal doesn't scare me. I have lived with it my entire life. Neither does temper. I can only assume Marko pissed you off royally. It happens."

The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been an effort to hold back a smile. "Arrest, scandal, uncomfortable press coverage—none of those things shake the foundation around here, and they don't put your job at risk. Not unless it affects your work. So tell me, Salvatore. Is this bullshit going to affect your work?"

"No."

Grayson hesitated, as if waiting for Damon to elaborate, then seemed to realize that Damon had said all he intended to. And why not? As far as the resort was concerned, that one word said it all.

"Enzo tells me they are going to plead you down. You will do community service over the next six months and walk away with a clean record. He has talked to Marko's people and the district attorney's office and everyone agrees."

"That is right," Elena said.

"Fair enough. Unless you have already made arrangements, you can serve it at the Mystic Fall's Foundation. Your family is a Founder member, so it shouldn't be a problem," he said, referring to the Founders Foundation. It was a charitable organization founded by the Founder members of Mystic Falls to provide educational opportunities to low-income or otherwise unfortunate kids with an aptitude in science.

"I—thank you. I know what to do." Damon tried not to let his surprise show on his face. Neither Grayson's reaction to the arrest nor the offer to help with community service had been something Damon would have expected from Grayson. Then again, Grayson wanted the resort project to run smoothly and efficiently. So helping Damon out made sense.

"Good," Grayson said. "I appreciate that you wanted to talk about this as soon as possible, but it really could have waited until morning. I'm sorry to say that around here unfortunate press coverage isn't as rare as I would like it to be. But it will blow over."

Damon glanced towards Elena, who was very deliberately not looking at him. But her relief was reflected in both her posture and her facial expression.

By the window, Grayson glanced at his watch. "Now if you don't mind, I would like to finish up with Elena about something else." He crossed toward Damon with his hand outstretched. "But it was good to see you, and I know that you will weather this storm just fine."

Damon hesitated, and then shook Grayson's hand. "I appreciate that," he said. "But there is something else I need to talk with you about. It is personal."

Grayson raised his brows. "What's on your mind?"

"Pastor Young."

"Well, damn. What trouble is he stirring up now?"

"Nothing that I know of," Damon said. "He is my father."

John gasped. Elena looked down at her shoes.

Grayson didn't move at all.

And for the first time Damon regretted not taking Grayson up on his offer to sit, because his knees were suddenly weak. Probably the result of all the oxygen being sucked from the room.

Grayson's expression didn't change. His eyes didn't widen. His jaw didn't tighten. He didn't swallow. He stayed absolutely calm and entirely unreadable. And in that moment Damon knew exactly how Grayson had been able to acquire his fortune so fast. The man had nerves of steel.

"I should have told you before I came on board the project," he said. "But I think you should know."

"Then why say anything at all?" Grayson's voice was as tight as a wire.

Damon glanced towards Elena, and then quickly looked away. "Because it is time."

"I see." A moment passed. Then another. And though Damon tried to discern what Grayson was thinking, he didn't have a clue.

"Dad?" Elena's soft voice seemed to fill the room.

Grayson didn't turn to her. He kept his eyes on Damon. And as Damon watched, the tight, expressionless face turned human again. Grayson smiled—not a genuine smile, but the kind of expression he might wear during a boardroom presentation. An expression of complete and total control—and that revealed absolutely no personal reaction whatsoever.

"I appreciate you telling me," he said. "Now if you don't mind, you should go. As I mentioned, I have other things to deal with."

Damon took a single step forward. "Mr Gilbert…"

"No," Grayson said, and this time the word was harsh, that slight hint of emotion revealing to Damon just how much his bombshell truly had impacted the man. "And it really is time for you to leave."

x x x

Elena forced herself to remain seated as Damon turned and left. She caught his eyes once more, but like her father, his expression was impenetrable.

Even so, Elena was sure there was pain behind Damon's mask, and she wished that it was in her power to make this whole situation better for Damon, whose love she cherished.

In the silence, she heard the front door closed, even from all the way across the house.

As if the sound was a cue, Grayson turned to her. "Did you know?"

There was absolutely no inflection to his words, and despite the years she had been his daughter—this was the first time that Elena had been truly nervous around her father.

"He told me on Saturday." What she didn't say was that it was because of her that Damon came here tonight. Once he had told her his secret, he knew he had to tell John and Grayson, because otherwise he would have to burden her with the secret, too. And this wasn't the kind of thing that Elena would feel comfortable keeping from her father.

Grayson says nothing, and even though Elena knew that his silence was a time-honoured technique to keep people talking, she fell headlong into the trap. "I saw him with Pastor Young at Michael Prado's charity event on Friday," Elena said, the words spilling out. "And I got pissed because I thought he and Pastor Young were onto something. We had a huge fight, and—" she cut herself off with a shrug. "At any rate, he told me."

Elena knew both his father and John were aware that she was seeing Damon, but that wasn't something she wanted to focus on at the moment. As far as she was concerned, right now, this was all about her being as professional as possible. She glanced towards John and she could see the worry on his face. But he said nothing, and Elena was grateful.

"You are not in trouble, Elena," Grayson said, and the iron band that had tightened around her chest loosened just a bit. "If a week or two had gone by without me learning the truth, then we would have talked. But as far as your job is concerned, you were obligated to tell me about this," Grayson added.

"I know," she said. "I appreciate that you understand how awkward the situation was. I know Damon will tell you eventually. I don't want to…"

He waved a hand. "I have heard enough. It is late, Elena. You should go home. You will be busy tomorrow."

"Fine." Elena quickly gathered her stuff and swung her leather tote over her arm. "I will see you tomorrow, John."

"See you tomorrow," John said, and his voice sounded as strained as Elena felt. "Drive safely."

"Well, tomorrow, then." She turned to head towards the door, but Grayson's words stopped her cold.

"Fire him," Grayson said, and the ground fell out from under her. "First thing tomorrow, I want you to fire him."

Her back was to him, and Elena stood frozen for a moment, unable to move. Unable to breathe. Did she hear him correctly? He wanted her to do this? To take away this project that Damon had come to love?

Bile rose in her throat, and Elena feared that she might threw up. But she forced it down, then very slowly and very carefully, she turned around.

Grayson's expression was hard, and there was no denying the contained fury in his eyes.

"But…but the resort?" Elena wanted to scream that he could not make her do this. That she couldn't fire Damon. Hell, that he shouldn't fire Damon.

Instead, she forced herself to stay calm. To appear business-like. "It won't look good. There will be questions. The press will be all over it."

"I believe I already made clear that scandal and the press don't concern me overmuch. We will handle it."

Elena licked her lips. "Don't you want to talk about it?"

"He is Pastor Young's son." Her father practically spitted the name out. "Have you forgotten about why I had to terminate my campaign a few years back?"

"No, of course not. But surely you don't think—"

"I don't know," Grayson said. "And that is the point. I'm cutting my losses, Elena. Take care of it first thing in the morning."

The words were a dismissal, but Elena didn't leave. "So, that's it?" she demanded. "The resort is dead?"

"Maybe not," Grayson said. "As it happens, Wes called me while I was in Hawaii. He didn't ask outright, but he beat around the bush enough that I can tell he regrets leaving the project. Apparently, Dubai isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"But—"

"We will do everything we can to keep the project alive," he said firmly. "But Damon Salvatore isn't going to be a part of it."

She had known this might happen, dammit. As soon as Damon told her the truth, she knew that her father might want to push him as far from Gilbert International as possible.

She just hadn't let herself believe it would really happen.

"You are being unfair to Damon." Her words were sharper than she intended, but dammit, she didn't agree with what her father was doing to Damon.

"I'm being unfair to Damon? That's ridiculous."

"Your father is doing the best for the company," John interrupted. "Damon shouldn't be part of the project."

"Why the hell not?" she retorted. "Damon is an amazing architect."

"You know why." Grayson turned to look at her. "Pastor Young is his father."

"Damon only found out about this last year," she explained. "He has nothing to do with the blackmail."

"I don't trust him and I will never trust him," Grayson growled.

"But you can trust me, Dad," Elena said. "What if I ask you to keep Damon on as a favour to me? I will make sure the project runs smoothly."

Grayson shook his head. "You mean a lot to me, Elena. But honesty and professional integrity mean more. Damon should have told at least let you the truth a long time ago. And he sure as hell should have told you before he came on board the project."

Elena knew her father was right. She sighed, suddenly mentally and physically exhausted. "I feel like you are punishing me, too," she admitted. "Making me be the one who fires him."

"No, I'm not punishing you," Grayson said firmly. "I want you to know you will eventually take over Gilbert International when John and I retire in the future. You have to do what is the best for the company. Do you understand?"

There was a brief silence.

"I'm sure Elena knows what to do," John said eventually. "She wants this project and she will do her best to keep it."

Elena's stomach twisted, because yes, she did want the project. This resort was her baby—her project. She had suggested it to John. She had put it together. And she would do everything to make sure she remained as the project manager for the Dunham Lake resort. And she also wanted to be the president of Gilbert International eventually.

So yes, she wanted this job. She wanted the resort. And she also wanted Damon.

God help her, she wanted it all.

And she had no idea if she could even come close to getting—or keeping—any of it.

x x x

 _Where are you?_

Elena glanced down at the text she sent to Damon as she got out of her SUV.

It had been well over three minutes, and still no reply.

She tapped out another note—?—and was rewarded with only cyber-silence.

Damon was not in his house. He was also not on his boat.

Elena frowned, wondering where Damon could go after he left John's house. She didn't want to go home by herself and in the end she drove to Gilbert International.

When she was inside the elevator, she wondered whether Damon could be in the office. Maybe he did come back to the office. She drew in a breath as she debated whether she should go up to his workspace on the tenth floor. On the one hand, he didn't call her, and he hadn't returned her texts. All evidence suggested that he wanted to be alone, and she got that.

On the other hand, what he wanted may not be the most important factor. She had been royally pissed off at him not long ago, and she had wanted to be alone, too. But Damon had followed her to make sure she was okay.

And right now, she was terribly afraid that Damon was a long, long way from okay.

In the end, Elena made a decision. Maybe it was selfish, but she wanted to see Damon. No, she needed to see him. She needed to know he was okay.

More than that, she needed to know that they were okay. That despite all of this shit, Damon and Elena were going to be just fine.

It was dark when Elena got off on tenth, the only illumination on the floor coming from the city lights streaming in through all the windows. The floor was only half built-out, so there were very few offices and cubicles. It was essentially a giant square with walls of glass, and because of that, the space was reasonably well-lit, like walking beneath the glow of a full moon.

She turned the last corner, and saw the newly erected glass walls that define Damon's workspace. He was standing by the window.

She saw Damon only in silhouette. His shoulders squared, his body rigid. She could not see the reflection of his face from where she stood, but she could imagine it with perfect clarity. His dark hair gleaming in the reflected light. His sculptured jaw tight with anger. And his blue eyes as cold as ice.

Elena started to walk toward him and then changed her mind. Instead, she pulled out her phone one more time.

 _If you need me, I'm right outside your office._

She hesitated, not entirely certain she was doing the right thing. And then, once more, she pressed send.

She heard his phone chirped almost immediately. She watched as he pulled out the phone. As he read the text. As he slid the phone back into his pocket.

But Damon didn't come, and as the seconds ticked by, that iron band was tightening around her chest again, and she was afraid—so terribly afraid—that they were not going to survive this. Because if he couldn't come to her now, how much worse would it be when she had to render the deathblow?

Elena stayed for a heartbeat, then two, but then she could not take it anymore, and she turned away, trying hard not to cry and not to run. Just to walk slowly and carefully, as if his silence hadn't pierced a hole through her heart.

She had gone two steps when she heard him, his voice so low that it was almost lost in the hum of the air conditioner. "If I need you?"

Elena froze, her shoulders stiffened, her eyes squeezed tight to fight back the flood. And then, when she was certain that she could manage it without completely falling apart, she turned to face him.

Damon filled the doorway, this larger-than-life man who right now was vibrating with so many wild emotions it was a wonder that he didn't combust under the strain of it all. But despite all of that—despite the anger and frustration that rolled off of him in waves—it was the heat Elena saw in his eyes that seemed to propel him forward. A familiar, wild heat—and it was directed entirely at her.

"If I need you?" he repeated as he strode to her, all force and power and intent. "Christ, Elena, don't you know by now that I always need you?"

He was only inches from her, but he didn't touch her, and that small omission suddenly seemed like the most important and most horrible thing in the world.

Elena wanted to reach for him, but instead she slid her hands into the pockets of her skirt. She was afraid Damon would flinch away, and she was absolutely certain that she couldn't survive that, too. "You didn't answer my texts."

"I did," he said. "I answered each one, and then I deleted it. I'm a goddamn mess, sweetheart, and I didn't think you would want to be with me like this."

"Damon," Elena whispered as she stepped closer, thrust into motion by the force of her relief. "Don't you know by now that I will always want to be with you?"

Her skin tingled, as if the emotions arcing between them were generating power, electrifying the air like a lightning storm. For a moment, Damon said nothing, but she watched as his chest rose and fell with each breath.

"Goddamn him," Damon finally said, and her stomach clenched. He was cursing her father who turned cold and impassive when faced with the news that Damon was Pastor Young's son. But how much worse would it be when Damon heard the rest of it? And would the fact that she must be the messenger make it easier or harder to bear?

Elena reached for him, as if to soothe a wound she had not yet inflicted. The touch seemed to ignite something inside him, and he pulled her close. "Elena…Oh, Christ, Elena."

Her name was muffled as Damon crushed his mouth over hers. She melted immediately, surprise giving way to the pure, sweet relief of being claimed by this man. Of being used by him. Wanted by him.

Of simply being his.

The kiss was brutal. Hard. Teeth clash. Tongues battle. And, yes, she tasted blood. It was as if Damon needed to consume her, to prove to himself that she was real and that she was here and that no matter what, she was not going anywhere.

From somewhere in the back of Elena's mind she knew that she needed to tell him the rest—that she must deliver that final, horrible blow—but she could not find the words yet. She could not risk that he would let her go. That he would back away from her, his eyes full of revulsion instead of desire.

And so she pushed reality away and lost herself in the fantasy that they were fine. That they were good.

That nothing could separate them again. Not even the iron will of a man like her father.

He broke the kiss, pulling back and breathing hard. Their bodies were pressed tight together and her chest throbbed with the violent pounding of her heart. "I need you," Damon said, and Elena could only nod and whisper yes, her body limped with both relief and desire.

His mouth claimed hers again, but this time his hands grasped her hips and he lifted her. She hooked her legs around his waist as he carried her back into his office. Elena felt weightless and wild, and god helped her she wanted to be used. She wanted to be the bridge—the thing that pulled him from anger and back to her.

She gasped as Damon slammed them against the drafting table. Her rear was on the surface, but it was angled, and she kept her legs around him to keep from sliding off. She leaned forward and attacked his shirt, tugging each button free, forcing herself to not just rip the damn thing off him. She wanted to feel his skin beneath her hand, the heat building inside him, growing toward a violent explosion.

Damon was not so gentle. He yanked her shirt open, sending buttons flying and exposing her black bra. Elena drew in a sharp breath, the ferocity of his action making her sex clench with raw, feral need. She was wet, so desperately wet, and she clenched her legs tighter around his hips, wanting nothing more in that moment than the feel of him against her cunt and the pressure of his mouth upon her breast.

"Please," Elena said as Damon tugged her bra down to free her breasts. He bent over, trapping her between his muscled frame and the hard, wooden drafting table. He dragged his teeth lightly over her nipples. She whimpered, her hips gyrating in a sensual dance that became more frenzied as he licked and sucked, her nipples tightening painfully in response to his ministrations.

Every part of her body seemed to be connected by criss-crossing strands of red-hot wire. From her breasts to her lips, to her belly, to the soft skin of her inner thighs, and to her wet and needy cunt. "Damon." His name was a moan, forced out past her gasps of pleasure as she arched against his mouth, her breasts so wild for his touch they hurt.

He lifts his head, leaving her feeling bereft. The sensual caress of cool air against her now damp breasts was like a tease, and dammit, she wanted more. She wanted to beg, but could only manage a whimper, and she clutched the desk to give her leverage as she shamelessly grind against him, wanting to increase the pressure against her clit even as she silently begged him to just take her completely.

They were both wild. Crazed. This was about sex or love or even passion. It was about need. It was about release.

It was about taking what they needed from each other. Hard and fast and very, very thoroughly.

His hands were on her skirt and he was shoving it up until it was nothing more than a linen ring around her waist. He ripped her shirt the rest of the way open, and the muscles of her stomach tightened as cool air brushed her overly heated flesh. His mouth settled again between her breasts, and Elena writhed beneath him as he kissed his way down her abdomen, her skin tightening and tingling with each erotic touch.

When Damon reached her navel, his tongue dipped into the indentation, and she sucked in air through her teeth even as her body clenched in response to this unexpected erogenous zone. He continued down, breaking contact only to slide over the bundle of material that was once her favourite skirt but was now a hated barrier between her flesh and his mouth.

For a moment Elena felt nothing except the gentle press of his hands on her hips to hold her in place. She started to lift her head, but his simple "No" halted her.

"Please," she begged.

"Please what?" She heard the tease in his voice and couldn't help her answering smile.

"Make love to me." Just saying the words made Elena even more wet. She was certain her panties were drenched—more than that, she was certain that Damon could see just how aroused she was. Rather than embarrassed her, though, the thought only made her more excited, and she spread her legs just a bit more in a silent admission. _I want you, Damon. And oh, dear god, I need you._

Damon exhaled, and the noise he made was both a confession and a seduction. She melted in response, mind and body relenting fully to his touch. He kneeled between her legs, his mouth even with the lowered edge of the table—and with her cunt. His soft breath teased her, like the most sensual of promises. And when his lips teased the soft flesh of her inner thigh, Elena had to turn her head and bit her lower lip to hold back the wild current of desire that threatened to shake her to the core.

While his mouth was busy on her leg, one hand had slipped to her panties. He teased aside the thin, damp patch of material that formed a negligible crotch, and then glided the pad of his thumb over her. He didn't penetrate, and her body clenched in protest against that denial of sensation.

His mouth moved closer to her core, and without any warning, he took her legs and lifted her so that she slid down a bit on the table even as he hooked her knees over his shoulders so that his mouth was right there, and she was spread out on his work table, her skirt hiked up and her hands clenching the side of the desk in a futile defence against this assault on her senses.

Elena was still wearing her shoes—an expensive pair of heels that she bought on a recent shopping spree—and somehow that one detail drove home to her what it was they were doing. And where exactly they were doing it.

"Damon—oh, god, Damon, stop." His tongue teased her along the band of her panties. "The walls—the glass. Anyone can see."

"Let them." His words were little more than a growl, and as soon as he had spoken them his mouth was back on hers. He used his finger to pull the crotch aside and attacked her with his tongue. Elena shivered with excitement—both from the way he was so wickedly teasing her and from the possibility of getting caught. Slim, she knew, considering this floor was Damon's domain alone and wasn't even fully built out yet. But even had the floor been bustling, she didn't know that she could have moved away. Or that she would have wanted to. She was too far gone. Too lost.

Elena didn't care about anything but having him. Submitting to him. To giving herself entirely to Damon, this man who had always been able to take her where she never even knew she wanted to go…but never so far that she couldn't find her way back to the familiar.

And now she was so sensitive and close that she hooked her ankles together and pulled him in, wanting him harder. Deeper.

Damon took her right up to the edge—her mind swirling, her body writhing—and then he pulled gently away.

"Damon—what—no. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

He chuckled, the sound very knowing and very sexy. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I have no intention of stopping."

Gently, he moved her legs off his shoulders as he stood, then gestured for her to hook them again around his hips. She did, and was rewarded by the erotic sound of his zipper lowering.

"I have to be inside you."

"Yes. Oh, yes." Elena spread her legs, welcoming him. Needing him to fill her up. To complete her.

He was hard and thick, but she was so damn wet he entered her easily. His hands were on her waist, and Elena pushed against him, and then hooked her arms around his neck so that her ass was against the edge of the table and her breasts rubbed provocatively against his chest as they moved together in a wild and primitive rhythm.

Damon opened his mouth as if to say her name, but Elena didn't want words. She only wanted him, and she claimed his mouth in a violent kiss, filling him with her tongue as he filled her with his cock.

She needed this, and she knew that he did too. This connection. This union. It was power and strength and solidarity. It was proof that they could get through everything that had and would happen. That they could weather the gathering storm.

It was torment and treasure.

And she dreaded when this interlude would end and she must unleash another kind of tempest.

He was deep inside her, gravity working with his every thrust, and his thumb teasing her clit in time with his movements. She was lost—she was melting. Aware only of the way Damon made her feel—wild and lost and so goddamned insatiable.

But even as he pounded into her—even as euphoria spin her higher and higher and Elena knew that this was a coming together that they so desperately need—there was something counterbalancing it all. Drawing her down. "Damon." She gasped out his name. "Damon, stop. I have to—oh, god."

Damon had shifted, and now he pushed her back onto the table. As he did, he lifted one of her knees up toward her waist so that she was even more open to him and he was even deeper inside her. He bent over her, shifting the angle from which he was entering her, so that his pelvis rubbed her clit with each thrust, leaving his hand free to cup her ass and hold her steady as he drove into her over and over, so hard and so fast that whatever foolish notion she'd had of making him stop was very soundly knocked out of her head.

"Come with me," Damon growled. "Dammit, Elena, I want you to come with me."

Elena arched up, one hand clawing his shoulder as she clutched the edge of the drafting table with the other. He pounded into her, his body going rigid with release. But it was his face, opened and savaged with undisguised need, that pushed her over the edge, and Elena cried out as the orgasm crashed over her again and again like a battering sea in a storm.

She was still breathing hard, still trembling from the aftershocks of passion, when Damon fell on top of her, his face buried against her breasts. Elena hooked her legs more tightly around his waist so that she didn't slide down, but the truth was that she wanted to move. She was antsy now. Guilty.

Elena had taken this moment—this pleasure—under false pretences, and she didn't know what to do now or how to make it right. All she knew was that she had to move. That she had to get him off her, because their position was too intimate and far too fragile to support the weight of her guilt.

"Damon." She lifted his head. "I need to get up. My back." The lie came easily, and Elena felt another twinge of guilt when his brow furrowed with concern and Damon helped her off the table, and even tugged her tattered shirt closed for her as she yanked her skirt back down.

"I'm glad you didn't give up," Damon said. "I'm glad you came looking for me."

"I—" The words seemed to catch in her throat, but she had to go on. She had to get this out. "There is something I should have told you before. I should have told you the moment I found you. But I didn't," Elena said as she looked down at the floor. "I didn't, and I'm sorry."

She was rambling. And as she rattled off these meaningless words, she realised that Damon and she were in the same predicament. She should have delivered the blow at the first opportunity. And he should have done the same with his revelation about Pastor Young.

"What?" Damon took her chin and gently tilted her face to his so that she must either look at him or deliberately avoid his eyes. "What is going on?"

"It is my father," Elena said, then watched as his expression hardens in front of her. "And it is the resort."

He said nothing, and for some reason that made it harder. But Elena had to do this and so she pressed on, taking a deep breath for courage, and then just blurting it out. "You are fired, Damon. My father said I have to fire you from the project."

The bastard.

The goddamn, holier-than-thou bastard.

"Fired?" Damon repeated, even though he knew damn good and well that he had heard her exactly right. "And, what? The great Grayson Gilbert didn't have the balls to do it himself? He has to put that on you?"

Elena took a step toward him, her hand outstretched. "Damon, he—"

"No." He shook his head. "I don't even want to hear it."

"Damn."

He grabbed the first thing he saw—a plastic cup full of pencils—and hurled it across the room. It slammed into the window and the pencils went flying, bouncing off the glass like tiny spears.

Beside him, Elena pressed up against the drafting table where he had buried himself in her just moments before. Her eyes were wide and he could see her chest rising and falling as she watched him warily, as if fearing that he might suddenly explode.

Then again, hadn't he already done that?

He sucked in a breath, and then dragged his fingers through his hair. Christ, he was an asshole.

"Elena," he said, and then felt his gut twist into knots when he saw the single tear snake down her cheek.

Oh hell. Oh damn.

He had done that. He had scared her. He had hurt her. And before that, he had used her.

And he was standing there and cursing Grayson for being an asshole?

What the hell was wrong with him?

"I'm sorry," he said. "Christ, I'm so damn sorry."

Her mouth moved, as if to say his name, but no sound came out. Just as well, because right now his name on Elena's lips had the power to shatter him. And he was already too shattered by half.

For a moment, he just looked at her. She stood there, her mouth slightly open as if she was searching for a single magic word that could put everything back to right. Her lips were swollen, her hair mussed. She held her shirt together with one hand, because of course he had been asshole enough to rip the garment to shreds.

Goddamn it. Goddamn it all to hell.

He still wore his leather jacket, and now he shrugged it off and dropped it over the back of a nearby chair.

"I'm sorry about your shirt," he said. "I'm sorry about everything."

And then, without looking back, he turned and left the room.


	18. Chapter 18

Elena grabbed hold of the drafting table and sucked in air, trying to gather herself as Damon disappeared down the hall.

Part of her thought that she should follow him—that she should go after him and enfold him in her arms, and then hold him like a child, kissing him and murmuring soft words until the pain went away.

But they had just been down this road, and Elena knew that when he left John's house, she brought him comfort.

Now, things have changed. And this time it was her that he was running from.

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

Elena paced the office, her emotions too riled to allow her to stand still. Back and forth, again and again, not seeing the room. Not seeing anything. Just moving. Just feeling the blood in her veins and the contempt that now flowed as well.

Because right now, Elena hated herself. She hated herself for what she did to this man she cared so deeply for. For that matter, she hated her father, too, for forcing her to be the hatchet man.

Elena understood why he did it—she was the project manager and that meant that hiring and firing were part of her job. But it wasn't her decision to fire, and now the two best things in her world—Damon and her job—had been tainted.

And, yes, Elena hated herself because despite what had happened—despite knowing that Damon was in pain—she didn't want to quit this job that she loved.

"Goddammit." She grabbed an eraser off the table and hurled it across the room. It hit the window just inches away from where Damon's pencils had struck. It made no sound, then dropped to the ground.

All in all, pretty damn unsatisfying, and Elena fell back into Damon's chair, closed her eyes, and lowered her head to his desk.

She was lost and she was angry and she was confused.

Most of all, she was impotent. Because she didn't know what to do. She didn't even know where to begin.

 _Don't you know by now that I always need you?_

Damon's words echoed in her mind, and Elena couldn't help but wonder if he really meant them. Did he need her?

More important, did Damon need her now?

As it turned out, the question was moot, because Damon was nowhere to be found, and by midnight Elena didn't really care what he wanted or needed anymore. Now it was all about her. Because she was terrified that something horrible had happened to him, and all that matters was what she wanted and what she needed.

What Elena needed was to find him.

Damon was not answering his phone. He was not answering his texts.

She drove all the way to Mystic Falls Harbour only to discover that Damon was not on his boat.

And when she called the Destiny and she was assured that he wasn't there either.

She ended up at the Salvatore boarding house but he was not there either. Her options were dwindling even as her fears were rising. This was no longer about soothing his anger or hurt feelings. This was about being really and truly scared that Damon was beaten up and bloody somewhere. He had one hell of a temper, after all.

Hadn't he gone after Marko?

Elena snatched up her phone and started to hit the speed dial for her best friend, Caroline. But then she glanced at the clock and see that it was after two in the morning. She hesitated, because Caroline must be dead asleep by now. Then she decided to dial anyway. As far as she was concerned, this was the kind of situation that was squarely covered by the best friend emergency pact.

"Who the hell is this?"

The male who answered the phone sounded annoyed, and it took a moment for her addled brain to regroup. "Klaus, it's Elena. I'm sorry I woke you, but it is an emergency. Can you put Caroline on?"

Klaus sighed deeply before saying, "Sure. Whatever. Hold on." At least, those were the words that filtered across the cellular connection. But Elena heard what he was really saying, and it sounded a hell of a lot more like, "What the hell? It is in the middle of the night."

"What is wrong?" Caroline barked out the question without preamble, and with no hint of sleep in her voice. She was good in a crisis, and always had been, and it was times like this when Elena was even more grateful that Caroline was on her team.

"Damon," Elena said, then gave Caroline the quick and dirty rundown of what had transpired. She didn't have to tell her that Damon was Pastor Young's son because Damon already did that himself. He had been desperate to find her, and he had gone to Caroline then laid it all out for her, knowing that if anyone could help him find his way back to Elena, it was her best friend.

"I don't know where has he gone to," Elena said. "I'm worried he may go after Marko. What if he goes after Marko again? What if he beats him up again? He will go to jail, won't he?"

Elena didn't know what the hell she was talking about, of course. She was too worried about Damon and all she knew was that she had to find him before any trouble arose.

"Okay, you need to seriously chill. Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes. No." Elena took a deep breath. "No, of course not. But I'm really worried."

"Yeah, I get that. I'm thinking." There was a pause, and Elena clutched her phone so hard she was at risk of breaking it. "Wait. Have you tried DS Design?"

"DS Design?"

"Didn't he take you to his workplace before? He could be there."

"Okay. Great. I will go there."

"Are you sure you are okay? I can come over and we can go to DS Design together."

"No, you go back to sleep. And tell Klaus I'm sorry."

Elena heard a rustling as Caroline adjusted the phone. "He is already conked out." She hear Caroline drew in a breath, and when Caroline spoke again, her voice was soft, but firm and full of concern. "Listen, I know everything has been pretty weird for you lately. If you need me now, I will come over immediately."

Elena closed her eyes, overcame with emotion. Of all the people in the world, Caroline and Damon were the only two who not only saw her, but understood her.

She shook her head, though she knew Caroline couldn't see her. "I'm okay," she said "I can manage it."

"Really?"

"I can and I will survive," Elena said firmly. "This is just a bump. A blip. We have gotten through so much more; I know we can get through this, too." Just saying the words aloud gave her confidence.

"Damn straight," Caroline said. "But call if you have problems. And call me once you find him so I know everything is okay."

"Will do. I love you, you know."

"Then why the hell aren't you in my bed?"

Elena laughed, and then hung up, shaking her head with amusement. Despite waking Klaus, she was glad she called, because if nothing else she felt infinitesimally better.

x x x

However, Elena didn't feel better. The building was dark when she arrived. Damon was not at DS Design.

By the time four a.m. rolled around, she was seriously considering calling Caroline back and telling her that Damon was still missing and something needed to be done. Hire a private investigator. Contact the police. Just do something to find Damon before she went completely out of her mind.

She didn't, though.

Her eyes were scratchy, and despite her worry, Elena could not stop herself from yawning. She had been sitting at her study table, a pad of paper in front of her so that, ostensibly, she could make notes about the resort. The pad was entirely covered with doodles.

She got up and went to the kitchen, used her Keurig to make a cup of coffee, and then went to the sofa. She wedged herself into the corner, pulled a blanket up to her shoulders, and held the mug in both hands. It was the warmth Elena wanted the most, because she felt cold. A bone-deep chill that she hadn't been able to shake since Damon walked away, leaving her alone in his office.

She knew that she should sleep, but she couldn't bring herself to move to the bedroom. Everything around her was spinning wildly out of control, and she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep at all.

But it was more than that. Somehow¸ letting sleep took her felt like giving up. Damon had to call soon. He had to, because she needed to know that they were okay. She needed to see his face and know that, despite the guilt that seemed to cling to her like glue, he didn't blame her for firing him.

That was what this was about, of course. That was why she had to find him. Had to see him. That was why she couldn't sleep. Why she was a wreck.

Because she was afraid.

Elena was so terribly, terribly afraid that despite the passion that twined them together and despite having already overcome so much, the foundation of their relationship had shifted, and nothing was ever going to be the same.

"Elena!"

Damon's voice.

She bolted upright, her heart pounding, unsure if she was dreaming.

"Elena!" he repeated, and the word was underscored with pounding.

Her door! Damon was at her door.

Elena tossed the blanket off, and then hurried to her front door. She tore through the locks, and then yanked the door open.

Damon stood there, his slacks wrinkled and his shirt untucked.

"In," Elena said, and held out her hand.

He took it, and as soon as he was inside the house, Damon pulled her into his arms, his head bent so that his face was pressed against her hair. Elena clung to him, so overcame with relief that she was afraid she would fall if she let go of him, and she loosened her grip only when she heard Damon drew in a sharp breath of air.

She released him, then stepped back, finally taking the time to truly inspect him. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Trust me," Damon said. "I hurt a lot less now."

She winced, but didn't say anything. She knew what he meant—how could she not? The pain of knowing he was Pastor Young's son. The wounds inflicted by her.

Elena forced the thoughts from her head. He was here now, and that was all that matters. "Let me see," she said as her fingers reached for the buttons on his shirt. She undressed him slowly, and then carefully peeled the white cotton away from his body. His chest was lean and muscled, with broad shoulders and just enough chest hair to give a woman something to tease with her fingers. He was perfection, but right now, his skin was marred by bruises rising in various shades of purple and yellow.

Her stomach twisted, but she didn't look away. Instead, she held tight to his hand and pulled him farther into the house. "What happened?"

"I turned anger into fights."

She exhaled slowly. "Did you go after Marko again?"

He shook his head. "No. I went to an underground boxing club and had a fight."

"Come on," she said. "We are going to fix you up."

"Elena, wait. I shouldn't have—"

Elena pressed a finger gently to his lips. "No. Please. We can talk later. Right now I just—" She drew a breath. "Right now I just need to take care of you."

Tears welled in her eyes, because this was her fault. What he had done to himself. And even though it wouldn't change anything, she needed to try to fix it. Even if only a little. "Please," she said as she pulled their joined hands to her lips. "Let me do this."

Damon nodded and then followed her to the bedroom. She peeled the covers back, and then returned to Damon. She had left the shirt in the living room, but he was still wearing his slacks and shoes. She bent down, then untied the laces on his shoes and held his foot while he slipped each off in turn. Then she rose up, her head tilted back slightly so that she could face him as her fingers worked his button and fly.

Gently, she tugged his pants down, and then his briefs. His cock was semi-erect, and she pressed her hand lightly over him, cupping the tender skin in her palm. "Not now," she said gently.

"I know," he replied. "But I should point out that might be the only part of me that didn't get the shit kicked out of it last night."

"I'm glad you know how to protect what is important," Elena deadpan, and was rewarded with a twitch of his lips. "Now sit."

He did, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. She pulled his slacks and briefs the rest of the way off, and then his socks. When he was naked, she silently indicated that he should lay down.

Damon didn't, though. He stayed upright, looking right at her. "You didn't tell me," he said. "The press. Calling you about me. You should have told me."

Elena licked her lips, and then lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. "Just a couple of calls when I went in to work yesterday morning. The resort is their angle, so of course they would want a comment from the project manager."

"You didn't give them one." His mouth curved up, almost into a smile.

"Not one damn word." Now it was her turn to grin. "You heard my father. The official response is 'no comment.'"

"And if there was no official response?"

Elena stepped forward to take his hand. "I would never say a word to them about you. About anything."

Damon leaned forward, resting his forehead against her chest as he breathed. Just breathed. His skin was hot to the touch, and Elena had to resist the urge to tilt his head back and checked for fever. She already knew what is wrong with him. He was exhausted, mentally and physically. He needed to sleep. But she could also see that he needed to get out whatever was on his mind.

So she stood there, perfectly still. And she waited.

"I don't like my demons pushing up against you." Damon sat up straight so that he could look at her. "I don't like you having to carry my shit."

"I don't mind."

A muscle twitched in his cheek. "I do."

"Yeah? Well then you are an idiot, Damon Salvatore."

He lifted a brow in surprise. Frankly, Elena was a little surprised herself. But she forged on. "I know you will always be there for me, no matter what happens."

She kneeled on the floor in front of him. She was still holding his hand, but she put her other one on his knee. "Don't you get it? I want to be there for you, too. I want to be the one who helps make you stronger. Who helps you carry it all."

As she spoke, Elena realized she was not even talking about the damn calls from the press anymore. Those were nuisances, nothing more. No, she was talking about the bruises. The fighting.

She was talking about the fact that he ran from her instead of to her.

And, yes, Elena knew that she was the one who fired him. Intellectually, she got that. Emotionally, she wanted this man in her arms.

Very gently, she reached up and brushed his cheek. "I know you are hurt because I had to fire you from the project."

"No, I don't get hurt, Elena."

"No, you don't admit that you get hurt. You get angry and cover it up and then you do something stupid." Elena took the pad of her thumb and brushed it gently over his lower lip, enjoying this soft intimacy. "Promise me you aren't going to hurt yourself again. If you want therapy, I want to be your therapy."

Damon made a scoffing sound. "Baby, I needed to bust something. You can look at me and see the shit I had to get out of my system. Do you really think I'm going to go there with you?"

Elena let her gaze drifted over him, taking in his perfect body that had been so abused. Lingering on each mark, each scrape, each bruise. She could claim them all, because it was her words that had him lashing out. Her words that triggered the explosion.

"Yes," she said. And then she lifted her eyes to his. "Yes," she repeated.

His expression hardened, and he shook his head. He started to speak, but she cut him off.

"I will give you whatever you need, Damon, that is a promise." Her chest felt full, and she had to push the words out. She wanted him to comprehend this. To truly get it. "Do you think I don't understand going wild? Pushing hard? Have you forgotten about Liam?"

Slowly—gently—Elena brushed her fingertip over the bruises on his chest. She watched the way his skin shifted and tightened in response to her touch. "These should be mine, Damon," she whispered. "Whatever relief you get from pounding away on another man, I should have been the one giving it to you."

His body stiffened beneath her touch. "I won't hurt you, Elena. Not like that."

"I'm not asking you to. Not exactly." She slid her hand down until she was cupping his cock. She heard his sharp intake of breath. "But I am saying that I will give you what you need. Whatever you need."

His cock stiffened beneath her hand, and Elena bit back a smile of satisfaction.

"You have no idea what you are offering."

"I think I do," she said, though in truth, Damon might be right. She had witnessed his need to fight. For raw violence. To lose himself in complete, primal physicality.

Translate that to sex, and could she handle it? Did she want to handle it?

Hell, yes. A tremor of nervous excitement ran through her, culminating between her legs, and she squirmed a bit from the simple knowledge that she was wet. Because so long as it was with Damon, the idea of being taken wildly, brutally, was undeniably exciting.

"I will give you what you need. Whatever you need. I want to be with you whether you are happy, sad or angry."

Elena released his hand, then rose to her feet. "If you want therapy, I want to be your therapy. That's all I'm offering, Damon, but I'm offering it without reservation or conditions. Use me, Damon. Use me whenever or however you need. I know you won't take it too far. I trust you. And I don't want you to run from me. Not again. Not ever."

She could see that he wanted to answer her but she didn't want to hear it. Not anything. Not yet. So, she shook her head and pressed my fingertips over his mouth. "No. Not now. We have said everything that needs to be said for the time being. And right now, I'm going to take care of you another way. Lay back."

Damon did, and she brushed a kiss over his lips, then smoothed his hair. "Close your eyes," she said. "I'm going to go get an ice pack."

"Yes, doctor."

"Role-playing?" Elena teased. "Well, we can certainly add that to our repertoire."

He chuckled, but his eyes were closed now, and the sound faded as he started to drift.

Elena hurried to the kitchen, then returned with a gel pack she used on days when she took yogurt and fruit to work. Damon flinched a bit when she held it over the worst of the bruises, but he didn't open his eyes.

She ministered to each bruise, holding the cold against them for five minutes each. She didn't know how much help it will be, but she knew ice could keep the swelling down.

Finally, she decided that there were no more bruises to treat, and that she had exhausted her limited first aid skills. She stripped off her own clothes, then climbed into the other side of the bed. Damon was dead to the world, and she didn't want to wake him, so she very carefully pulled the covers up, then slid in next to him. Since she was afraid of accidentally prodding one of his injured spots, she didn't spoon against him. Instead, she laid a few inches away, then rested her hand lightly on his hip.

Elena didn't like it, though. Even this small space of air between them seemed like a barrier that was forcing them apart. And though she closed her eyes and willed exhaustion to sweep her away, sleep didn't come.

But then Damon rolled over, his arm going automatically around her waist. He pulled her to him so that her rear was nestled against his crotch and her back was pressed tight against his battered chest. His breath was soft and even near her ear, and as soothing as a lullaby.

And as slumber finally swept her away, her last thought was that she was a fool. Because Elena should know better than to think that even the most potent pain would keep her out of Damon's arms.

x x x

Damon woke to realize that every part of his body ached.

His ribs screamed when he breathed.

His skin felt too tight and too damned sensitive.

Muscles burned, abrasions stung.

All in all, he was a mess. And he had no one to blame but himself.

Himself—and Grayson Gilbert.

Goddamn the arrogant prick. He had fired Damon? What kind of bullshit was that?

Even now, the memory made him want to put his fist through the wall, and he really should have worked that shit out by now. Lord knows the fifteen large he had won in the ring last night should have been therapy enough. He had beaten the crap out of every challenger the club had tossed at him, and still the rage bubbled under the surface.

And not just because of what Grayson had done, but because of how he had done it. Putting it on Elena. Making her lay down the gauntlet to Damon, when Grayson knew damn good and well that she wanted Damon on the project, not to mention that they were dating.

Dating.

The word sounded too thin to hold the depth and power of the emotions he felt for Elena. He had left because he couldn't stand the thought of losing it in front of her. And he had returned because, goddammit, he needed her touch to find his way back to himself after the rage had passed. After he was aching and exhausted.

Christ, she was perfect, and all the more so because of the way she had given herself so fully to him. Did she even realize what she had done to him? The way his heart had flipped over when she had looked at him with those wide, brown-coloured eyes and told him that she would submit to whatever he needed? That he could use her however he wanted?

Now her back was pressed to his chest and he held his arm loose around her waist. The steadiness of her breathing was like a gift, as if she was silently telling him that so long as she was in his arms, all was right with the world. She trusted him, fully and completely. He felt it now, and he had seen it when she'd so boldly offered herself to him. In her eyes, on her face.

That trust had both humbled and excited him. Hell, even now his cock—about the only part of him that wasn't battered and bruised—was as hard as a rock and nestled sweetly against the curve of her ass.

She had trusted him openly and completely despite he had lied to her about Pastor Young.

She had surrendered control even though she didn't understand how far he might want or need to go.

But what had really twisted Damon up was the realization that just saying the words had aroused her. He had seen that clearly enough in the way her pupils had dilated and in the flush that rose in her cheeks.

And her excitement had made him hard.

Hell, just thinking about it now made him harder, though how that was physically possible he really didn't know. He was so stiff right now he felt like he had been sculpted from a goddamn slab of marble.

If he'd had any doubts that Elena would go with him as far as he—or she—needed to go, she had soundly erased them. Christ, she would put herself out there as a proxy for the ring.

That would never happen, of course; she wasn't a punching bag, and he would never, ever use her like that. But her offer, made with such sincerity and love, had stolen his breath.

Damon knew it was wrong. His anger to fighting and his need for control to sex. Sometimes it really was about getting out there and getting bloody. Getting lost in the ring and the rage.

But more often, all that he truly needed was to release some of the pressure inside him. To fight back against whatever cosmic joke the universe was pulling at that moment and grab control where he could.

Before Elena, that would have been cause to call the people in the underground boxing club who were uniquely hooked in. Find out what warehouse was hosting the action that night, and see if he could get a piece of it.

Now, though, they could fight their demons together. Yin and yang. Control and submission. Pleasure and pain. And on and on and on until they sent each other spiralling over that invisible line where it all became the same. Where pain gave way to pleasure, and control revealed itself to be nothing more than surrender.

That was the heart of the truth, wasn't it? Because no matter what games they might play in bed—no matter how much he professed to be the one in control—in life, Elena held Damon's heart in her hands, and he was utterly hers.

Right now, though, she was his. And he was too hard and too eager to decline the pleasure she had offered. Use her? Hell, yes he would. Deeply, intimately, and very, very thoroughly.

Slowly, he moved his arm from around her waist, trailing his fingers up so that he could gently stroke her perfect skin. So that he could glide over her curves—her hip, her waist, her breast.

He pressed his palm over her breast, cupping it, feeling his cock twitch as her softness filled his palm. Then he flattened his hand and very lightly stroked her nipple with his palm. She whimpered in sleep, but didn't wake. Her body, however, was beginning to rouse in response to his ministration, and the nipple he'd been teasing was now taut and tight. He took it between two fingers, rolling it gently but firmly as her areola puckered.

As he teased her breast, he pressed his lips to the back of her neck, brushing a kiss over the tattoo there. She had so many, all marking her battles and triumphs over her demons. Too many, he thought. And two of them, he knew, were because of him. The flame on her breast, and his initials on her lower back.

His chest squeezed tight as he pulled down the sheet so that he could see her ink in the afternoon light now streaming through the window. He slid down, pressing his lips to her skin, dancing his tongue along the line of his initials. He heard her soft moan, and stopped briefly, but she hadn't awakened.

Good.

He knew now what he wanted to take. How he needed to use her, accepting the gift of herself that she had given him, and returning it with pleasure and with a silent promise that they belonged together.

Not a hard, pounding fuck. For now, at least, he had exorcised his demons. But dear god, he did need to be inside her—to claim her fully and control her pleasure completely. To see her face as she awakened with his cock deep within her and her body primed and wet and soft with need.

He wanted her to realize that he understood the depth of what she had offered him and that he welcomed it. Hell, he craved it.

Gently, he eased her onto her back and then straddled her. His cock brushed her stomach as he leaned over, and he had to pause to take a breath so that he didn't come right then.

He closed his mouth over her breast, teasing her already tight nipple, then slowly stroking his hand down her abdomen as he eased his way down her body. He saw the way her skin tightened in the wake of his touch, and he felt the quickening of her pulse. She writhed a bit, then reached out, her hands fisting in the sheets as her lips parted on a soft sigh.

He paused, unsure if he had awakened her. But she was still asleep—she had stayed up throughout the night worrying about him, and he knew that exhaustion had swept her away.

Slowly, he trailed his fingers down between her legs and used two fingers to stroke her cunt, already slick and wet for him. Slowly he eased those fingers inside her, and when she tightened around him in welcome, a fresh wave of desire, so strong it seemed as though it could destroy him, washed over him.

He craved her, dammit, as painfully and potently as a drug. And the glory of it was that she was his. Truly his.

And he didn't have a clue what he had done to deserve her.

Rhythmically, he thrust his fingers inside her, keeping his eyes on her face as the pressure built, watching her eyes move behind her closed lids. She was dreaming, he realized, and he couldn't help but wonder what those dreams entailed.

Then her lips parted, and he heard a soft "yes" drift from her lips.

Right then, that single word was the most erotic—and most powerful—sound he had ever heard. And just in time, too. Because he couldn't wait any longer. He had to be inside her. Had to have her before the need destroyed him.

He lowered himself over her, his cock pressing against her slick cunt. She was so wet that he slid into her easily, gratified by the way her hips rose in silent welcome. He thrust in deep, filling her so completely that his balls rubbed against her, and his cock tightened even more inside her. Again and again, and with each thrust he watched her face, bathed in passion even though she was still lost in sleep.

And then, oh Christ, she murmured his name. Still lost in slumber, but so desperately aroused.

And so very, very his.

"Damon."

It was his name on her lips that woke Elena. Not the fact that he was inside her, because that felt right and glorious and real.

Instinctively, Elena spread her knees, giving him deeper access even before her conscious brain acknowledges this delicious reality.

"Harder," she murmured, and as the mist of sleep started to dissipate, she arched up, wanting more. She was so close. So alive. So sweetly, wonderfully his. "Please," she begged as Damon thrust harder into her. As she reached for him, her hands on his back pulling him against her, wanting everything that he had to give.

She had gone from floating to attacking. From peaceful to feral. She wanted this—oh, dear god, she needed this, and heard herself calling to him. His name. Her moans. Her cries of "Oh, god, yes, take me, please, Damon, please take me harder."

Damon was above her, his body undulating over her, his stormy eyes wild with passion. He was filling her up and sending waves of pleasure coursing through her body. She was so close—so ready—and Elena felt more alive and more awake than she had ever been in her life.

"You offered," he growled. "I took."

"Yes." She sucked in air as ripples of electricity punched over her body, the precursors to an orgasm that just might kill her. "Damon—oh, god, Damon."

"That's it, baby. Come for me."

His hands were on either side of her, but now he lifted one, taking his weight only on the other as he closed his now free palm over her breast. She rose up, her body craving more, and he took her nipple between two fingers, pinching her to the point of pain.

Elena gasped—in surprise, yes, but even more from the sweet sting that spread through her, fiery hot like an electrical storm that seemed to connect her breast to her core.

She heard him moaned and knew that he had felt this new sensation as deeply as she had. "Again," she begged. "Harder."

Damon didn't disappoint, and Elena bit her lower lip as he tormented her nipple, making her writhed on the bed in the throes of a sweet pain that sent riots of pleasure through her body, making her clit throbbed and here cunt tightened and convulsed around him, silently demanding that he took her harder and deeper until finally the entire world seemed to explode around them.

Elena thought that she called his name, but she was not sure. She was not sure of anything, actually, until the world re-formed around them, and she was limp beneath his weight as Damon collapsed on top of her. His cock was still inside her and his face was buried in her hair. His hand remained on her breast, and even now, even sated, Elena wanted more.

"Damon," she murmured, then moved her shoulder so that her still-erect nipple brushed against his hand.

Damon made a soft noise against her hair, and though he was otherwise still and spent, his fingers teased her breast, his fingertip stroking the areola, making the skin tightened and puckered.

Elena was breathing harder, wanting more, and she dragged her teeth over her lower lip in dire need of his touch. He didn't disappoint, but at the same time the touch was only a tease, a soft stroke of his fingers on my nipple, when she wanted that heat. That shock. That sting that shot all the way through her.

"You want more?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"Touch yourself."

Elena opened her eyes, only then realizing that she had closed them in the first place. His face was right there, his jaw firm. His eyes hard and full of passion and heat.

"Touch yourself," Damon repeated, and because he had told her to, Elena complied. She slid her hand down her belly and found her clit. She was wet and slick, and her fingers slid over her sensitive flesh.

She bucked a little, her body once again reaching for release, and as she did, she was rewarded by his fingers tightening upon her nipple, giving her what she had so desperately craved. And now that heat—that connection—seemed to shoot through her body, making her breasts heavy and her skin sensitive. Filling and teasing her.

And as she stroke herself in small circles, Elena slid her fingers down to brush against his cock, feeling that place where they were connected. She felt him harden inside her, and shee gasped at the power that seemed to arc between them, firing both their bodies with such wild electricity.

"Now, baby," Damon whispered, tweaking her nipple even as a second, explosive orgasm rocks through Elena, making her muscles tightened around him, making him harder and wilder and oh, dear god, she still wanted more. She wanted everything. She wanted Damon.

And he, thank god, wanted her.

Still inside her, Damon rolled onto his back so that Elena was straddling him, impaled on his cock, her body still sensitive from the last climax. "My turn, sweetheart," he said as he took her hips and guided her up and down as he pumped into her, using his control over her rise and fall to thrust deeper and deeper, until he finally exploded inside her, and Elena watched as he went over the edge, and was humbled by the pleasure and wonder she saw on the face of this man she loved.

When the last tremors subsided and his body relaxed, Elena leaned forward so that her breasts pressed against his abdomen and her cheek rested against his chest. He was warm, like a furnace, and his scent was intoxicating. She was tired, sated, but she couldn't resist the urge to tease his nipple with her tongue.

When she did, Damon laughed, then quickly flipped her so that they changed positions and he was over her. "Someone's energetic," she teased.

"Someone had a nice long nap." He lifted his eyebrows. "Care to go again?"

"Always."


	19. Chapter 19

"What time is it?" Elena stretched luxuriantly. "I think we should probably eat."

"Late. Early. I don't know." Damon propped himself up on an elbow and grabbed his phone off her bedside table. "Late. We slept all day."

"Makes sense. We were up all night."

Damon pulled himself up to a sitting position, then leaned his back against her headboard as he used his phone to order pizza. He didn't bother to cover himself with a sheet, and he wasn't the least bit self-conscious. Nor did he seem to be aware of the fact that—as the most incredible hunk of maleness that she had ever seen—he was entirely distracting her. His hard abs, his muscled arms. That tight V of muscle that some men have that traces the way from waist to groin, and his still quite impressive, though no longer fully erect, penis.

In Elena's current state of arousal, even the bruises that marred his body were sexy, and she couldn't help but wonder if this wasn't some sort of anthropological thing. The young woman attracted to the male in the tribe with the visible marks that proved he was capable of protecting her.

Damon cleared his throat.

Elena realized that not only was he no longer on the phone, but that she had been staring at his waist—okay, at his cock—and lifted her head sheepishly.

"Like what you see?"

"Just checking out what belongs to me," she said boldly.

"Good answer. Come here."

Elena had been wrapped in the sheet, but Damon pulled her free of it so that she was tucked in naked beside him. It seemed decadent, somehow. Spending the day naked in bed. Or it did until he bent over to kiss her forehead and said, "I'm sorry to have kept you up all night. I didn't intend to worry you. Honestly, I didn't intend anything at all."

Elena sat up, then grabbed for the sheet and wrapped it around her again. If Damon asked, she would say that she was cold. But the truth was that she just felt a little bit exposed.

She didn't plan to say anything, but then she heard the words and realized that they had come out of her mouth. "I thought you were mad at me. I thought that was why you left."

"Mad?" Damon looked so confused that she immediately relaxed, because no verbal denial could be more reassuring. "Oh, baby, no. I probably could have ripped the great Grayson Gilbert to shreds for making you do that—and it was his face I saw on every man I went up against in the ring—so I was mad, yes. But not at you."

He reached for her, sheet and all, and once again pulled her close. Elena curled against him, and the world seemed to right itself again.

"Not at you," Damon repeated. "At Grayson."

"I know. I'm mad at him, too," Elena admitted. "But he is still my father."

"I know." He stroke her hair gently. "I shouldn't say something bad about him in front of you."

"You should be mad at him. He fired you from the project."

"I know he is trying to do the best for the company. For that matter, I'm mad at my father, too. And we might as well add my mother to the equation." Damon grimaced. "Although you would think I would know by now that getting mad isn't even worth the effort."

"You have never really told me about Pastor Young," Elena said softly. "Not much more than the big picture, anyway."

"It is hardly a story worthy of Disney," Damon said wryly. "But I suppose it has dramatic potential." He tilted his head back. "I told you I'm a bastard, and not just of the asshole variety?"

Elena made a face. "Very funny. You could have told me."

"Could have told you what?"

"Don't play dumb, Damon."

"It wasn't relevant."

"Of course it is relevant."

"Tell me one reason why."

"For starters, Pastor Young is already married."

"Yes. He was already married when he met my mother."

"Did they have an affair?"

"Why are you so damn curious?"

"Why don't you like him?"

"Jesus, you never let up."

"They had an affair. And he walked away when he learned your mother was pregnant?" she guessed.

"No. And she has always given him too much credit for that. Pastor's career in the political world was starting at that time. He couldn't marry her. His wife had family money that she inherited which would help with his career in the politics. Why would he give up his career? He was a growing star in the political world at that time."

"Dad was asked to take care of her and they fell in love. They decided it was the best for the three of them. I have always thought we were a happy family. My earliest memory is of the Founder's Day Funfair. It was at the park near the Town Hall. I remember my dad showing me off to his friends. One of them gave me chewing gum, the first I remember having. You know, the candy-coated square kind you get out of machines? He let me pick which colour I wanted. Then my dad took me around to different game stalls and explained the history of Mystic Falls. I remember thinking that to know all that stuff, my dad must be the smartest person in the whole."

"He carried me on his shoulders so I could see over the crow. I was scared at first, but he put his hands on my knees to secure me. He told me to hold on to his hair. No matter how tight I grabbed hold, he didn't complain. I knew he wouldn't drop me."

He stopped just in time to avoid making a complete fool of himself. He didn't like taking strolls down memory lane and he didn't like showing his weakness. Especially not in front of Elena. Letting your head govern was easy. It was this heart stuff that was tough. Dealing with emotional issues wasn't for sissies.

"He does love you," she said softly.

"Stefan was born when I was seven. I was very excited to have a little brother. Dad has never favoured Stefan over me despite Stefan is his real son."

Elena had listened quietly, offering no comments or lame platitudes, which he would have deplored. He looked at her to gauge her reaction to the story. All the while he had been talking, she hadn't moved, not a muscle. Now, she took an uneven breath, let it go, swallowed.

"What are you going to do?" she asked softly.

"I don't know." He shoved his fingers through his hair. "Pastor Young told my mother he is dying and he isn't going to make it until end of the year. He wants to see me because I'm his son. He doesn't want to die without letting me know the truth. He thinks we are going to be one big family."

"Did you want that?"

His jaw tightened. "No. But I know my mother wanted it. Because I saw how much my mother wanted it."

Elena reached out to hold his hand, the gesture seeming feeble against the weight of the pain she heard in his voice. "Are you sure you didn't want that?" she whispered the question, somehow afraid that by speaking too loudly she would shatter the man.

He looked at her sharply.

"Maybe Pastor has never stopped loving your mother. And he has never stopped loving you."

"That's what he said. I suspect that Mum has been sneaking news about me to him all these years."

"That's because he cares about you."

"If he cares, he shouldn't have left my mother when she was pregnant."

"But…" she began, then stopped herself. She got it. Because Pastor's career took off. He wasn't about to risk that cash cow by tossing scandal into the ring. Another family. Another child.

The intercom buzzed, and Damon went to let the pizza guy inside the house, pulling on his trousers. Elena slipped into a robe and followed him into the living room, feeling a little bit shell-shocked.

She wanted fresh air, and so she opened the windows in the living room.

Damon joined her in the living room, and they sat on the sofa and put the pizza box on the coffee table.

"Where's Maria?" Damon asked.

"She has taken a few days off."

"I see."

"Can I ask you something else?"

"Of course."

Elena brushed her fingers lightly over his bruises, leaving a streak of oil from the pizza. "Where did you go last night? You said you were in an underground boxing club."

"A fight club," he said. "Bare knuckle. It is gambling and it is illegal, but it takes the edge off."

Her stomach twisted. "Damon."

"Hey, I won the purse."

She shot him a scowl. "To the best of my knowledge, you are not hurting for money. How did you find the place, anyway?"

"A friend from my high school years. Name is Julian. He owns the gym I belong to. And as for the fights, well, he is hooked in."

"I don't like it," Elena said, voicing the understatement of the century. "I mean, it is dangerous, right?"

"Compared to what? To boxing with gloves? Gloves add weight. More risk of head injuries."

She put her pizza down. "Jesus, Damon, why compare it to anything? It is just dangerous."

Damon said nothing, and she sighed. "Look, I'm not going to sit here and debate the right way for you to get the shit beat out of you. I just don't want you to get the shit beat out of you at all."

Elena shifted on the lounger so that she was looking at him straight on. "I meant what I said earlier. You want to pound something, then I think you should just pound yourself inside of me."

His smile was slow and deliciously sexy. "All right."

She blinked, surprised by his quick acquiescence. "All right?"

"What? Didn't you think I would take you up on your kind offer? Did you not mean it?"

"No," she assured him. "I meant it. I just thought that you—"

Damon cut her off by taking her hand. "Listen, Elena. I can't promise I won't ever want to beat the crap out of something again. But I was thinking about your offer while I was watching you sleep."

"Watching me?"

"Oh, yes. You are beautiful, baby. I could watch you for hours. And so I watched you, and I thought."

"And?" Her palms were suddenly sweaty, and Elena wiped them on her robe.

"And the thing is that sometimes my fights are about temper, and I really do want—like you say—to just beat the shit out of something. And maybe I can rein that in a bit. I don't know. But the truth is that most of the time, it is not temper that sends me into the ring but frustration. The need to wrap control around an uncontrollable situation."

"And I'm controllable?" Even as Elena said the words, she realised that her voice sounded breathy, and that her nipples were tight with excitement and anticipation. As long as Damon would not run away from her, she would give him anything he needed.

"So, you will use me?" Elena asked, her voice husky.

"Baby," Damon said, pulling her close, "it will be my pleasure."

x x x

Elena stretched in the shower, then pressed her hands against the tile as the water pounded down on her, soothing her body. She felt sore and achy but she smiled with satisfaction. If she felt this sore after a gym workout, she would vow to not go again for a week. As it was, she wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, wake Damon, and spend the day riding him hard.

Sadly, that was not going to happen.

Instead, Elena was going to go to work, and Damon was going to sleep in and then headed to DS Design. The thought was bittersweet, and she pushed it away, not wanting to think about the implications of Damon not working on the Dunham Lake resort. Not wanting to worry about the fact that his main office was in Los Angeles, not in Mystic Falls.

Not interested in fretting over the reality that Damon would soon be looking for another commission, and god only knew where on the planet that might take him.

Frustrated, Elena tilted her face up and let the spray washed over her. Then she stepped out of the shower, dried off, and wrapped the towel around her as she headed back into the bedroom.

She got dressed quietly, careful not to wake Damon. She knew he must still be exhausted—god knew, she was—but she also didn't want to say goodbye. Not when she was heading off to a job they should be going to together. And yes, Elena realised that was stupid because this was reality now, and they were going to have to deal with it, but she was not ready to face that reality yet. And if she didn't say goodbye, then maybe she could pretend that she was at her desk in Gilbert International and he was in his area on tenth floor, and everything was chugging along just fine.

God, she was pathetic.

Elena pushed aside a pile of clean laundry so that she could sit in the upholstered chair near the bed to put on her shoes. She bent over and tackled the tiny buckle on the tiny straps, and when she sat back up, she saw Damon watching her.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself." Damon patted the spot next to him. "Come here."

She did, perching on the edge of the bed beside him as he propped himself up on an elbow. She bent over and brushed a kiss over his lips. "You should sleep." She traced her fingers lightly over the bruises on his chest. "The rest will do you good."

"You did me good," Damon said, the words so heavy with meaning that they seemed to fill her up.

"I'm glad."

"And now you were going to sneak out without even saying goodbye."

"No," Elena said, but then blushed when his brows rose with obvious disbelief. "Only because you were dead to the world, and I figured you needed the sleep."

"Bullshit," he said.

She lifted a shoulder, looking not at him but at the bed. "Fine. It is weird going without you."

Damon was silent a moment, then he tilted her chin up and looked at her. "Go," he said. "And when you get home tonight, I will take you out for dinner. Deal?"

"Deal," Elena agreed, then laughed when Damon kissed her knuckles.

Her mood stayed light all the way to the office, but shifted toward grey when she met with John and her father to go over some of the pending details for the resort, including replacing Damon. It was the longest forty-seven minutes of her life, and Elena was not sure how she manage to keep her mouth shut and not tell her father that he was making a huge, huge, huge mistake.

"Under the circumstances, I think Wes is our best bet for a replacement," Grayson said. "I'm willing to consider other candidates, if you have them, but it is going to have to be a perfect storm of availability, skill, and reputation to make it work."

Other candidates.

As in, not Damon.

As in, another architect that she would be working with. Because as much as she wanted Damon Salvatore on this project, Elena didn't want it enough to walk away from the project manager position.

And that was the real elephant in the room. The monkey in her wrench. The worm in her candy bar—she hadn't told her father she felt guilty as shit for not quitting the resort. And her father hadn't told her that he didn't blame her for bringing Damon into this project initially.

But Elena knew that her father must, because how on earth could he not be pissed? Her father had always believed Salvatore and Mikaelson were responsible for the blackmail.

The grey cloud that had settled over her turned stormy, and it was not even soothed by a double latte and chocolate croissant from Mystic Grill.

Nor did being at her desk in the office improved her mood, and for the first time in a long time Elena wished that she was at home in her own bed. Because every piece of paper she put her finger on reminded her of Damon.

That was especially true when she pulled Wes' preliminary sketches from the file and started to study them.

And goddammit, there was no comparison.

Everything about Damon's work was better. The presentation. The layout. The flow.

Where the resort that Wes had envisioned was undeniably dramatic, what Damon had put on paper enhanced the beauty of the lake. Instead of using Dunham Lake as the equivalent of a concrete slab upon which to plunk an architectural masterpiece, Damon had incorporated the lake into his design. He used the trees, the hills, and the valleys to define the layout, making the structures seemed organic, as if they were part of the land and the lake.

Wes' resort could be built as easily in Richmond as on Dunham Lake. But Damon's vision was inextricably intertwined with the lake, so much so that Elena could imagine no other architect coming close to creating such a sweetly perfect design.

And yet somehow she had to find just such an architect.

Well, damn.

What she should do was march back up to John's office and argue on Damon's behalf. But she couldn't seem to make herself push back from the desk. She didn't want John or her father to think that she was simply arguing for the man she was sleeping with, and that frustrated her even more. Because, dammit, the man she was sleeping with really was the best man for the job.

"Damn."

"Trouble?"

Elena twisted around in her chair to find Meredith Fell leaning against the doorway.

"Usually you are so bloody cheerful," Meredith said amiably. "Whatever could be the matter?"

Elena made a face. "Don't even pretend you haven't heard."

"I have, and I'm sorry. For what it is worth, I think John is making a mistake. In this day and age, Damon's arrest is hardly a blip. Hell, the PR department could probably have a field day leaking stories to the press. We would end up selling out opening day so fast we would have to arrange for a month-long opening extravaganza. What?" Meredith added, frowning at her.

Elena shook her head and adjusted her expression. "It is just that I agree with you. Did you talk to John?"

"Haven't seen him. I was in Richmond yesterday and I have been at a meeting all morning. Why?"

"No reason," Elena said, and she had to wonder if John was going to tell Meredith the whole truth. She supposed there was no reason to, especially now that Damon was off the project. But at the same time, the truth about Damon and Pastor's relationship was out there, and she wondered how people would react if they knew about the truth.

"So was it your general malaise at the situation that had you muttering curses when I walked up? Or has something more specific got you riled up?"

"This," Elena said, passing Meredith the folder of Wes' work. "It is trite and mundane and downright dull compared to the work Damon was doing."

Meredith sat down on the corner of her desk and flipped through the folder. Then she looked at Elena's desk where she had put Damon's sketches. One beat, then another. Then she tossed the folder with Wes' work in the recycling bin. "So, we ask him for a fresh approach or we find another architect."

"Time is an issue," Elena admitted. "Quality and experience are another. We have been down this road already, remember? When Wes quit, Damon was our only legitimate option. Who else had the kind of reputation that would keep the investors happy?"

"Agreed," Meredith said. "But we are further down the road now."

"Not by much." Although it felt like Damon and she had been working together for ages, the truth was it was barely even being a week since he officially signed onto the project.

"No, but sometimes it is more about psychology. They have turned the ignition key twice now. That means that they think it is a viable project. And no one likes to second-guess themselves."

Elena considered Meredith's words and had to agree that she had a point. "The investors are invested?"

Meredith chuckled. "Something like that."

"Even if you are right, I still have to find someone that I can live with." Elena leaned back in here chair and focused on the ceiling. "What about you, Meredith?"

"Are you serious?"

Elena sat back up again, the chair creaking slightly with her movement. "Are you interested?"

"I might," Meredith admitted. "But I'm not sure John would."

"Really?" Elena was surprised. Meredith designed Richard Lockwood's extremely awesome house, so she happened to know John was pleased with Meredith's work. And since she was in charge of this project, she knew that Meredith was easy to get along with and didn't freak out at last-minute changes. Elena also happened to know that although Meredith's experience was primarily residential, Meredith wanted to branch out into commercial projects. And considering how much John and her father enjoyed finding and nurturing talent, Elena was surprised by Meredith's reaction.

"I think the only reason John and my father are willing to let Wes back on the project after he quit is because the man has a worldwide reputation," Elena said. She looked at Meredith. "Will you take the offer?"

Meredith looked thoughtful. "I still have a few projects to complete. Let me think about it, Elena."

"Sure."

Meredith promised to think some more about possible replacement architects, then headed off to an afternoon meeting with one of the construction managers for a Gilbert Real Estate project. Elena decided that it was time for another caffeine boost, and headed down to the lobby and the coffee shop around the corner of Gilbert International. Since it was a typically gorgeous Mystic Falls day, Elena took a minute outside, and was sipping her latte when her phone chimed, signalling a text from Caroline.

 _Sorry about the shitstorm_

 _Call if you need me_

 _{{{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}}_

Elena stared at the text, completely baffled, but with a very bad feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. And then, since she did need Caroline to tell what the hell she was talking about, Elena hit the button to speed dial her cell phone.

It rang once, then rolled to voice mail. "Dammit, Caroline. What the hell? You said to call. Call me."

Elena ended the call, then scowled at the phone, her mind whirling. Did Damon go to the press with news of his firing? Did he tell them the real reason why?

Because Damon Salvatore's biological father was ex-governor Pastor Young definitely qualified as big news.

She stood up and tossed her half-finished latte in the trash, then hurried back toward the building and her phone rang as she did.

It was Bonnie.

"Hey, Bonnie," Elena said as she entered the lobby. She waved at the security desk as she headed for the elevator. "I'm on my way back to the office."

"Elena, you need to know something. It's about Damon."

Elena froze. Literally, she just stood there, unable to move. And she was cold, so cold she was trembling. That must be why they said you were frozen, she thought stupidly. And that thought was immediately followed by, _You are in shock. This is shock._

"You there?" Bonnie asked, sounding concern as if she had picked up on her distress. "Elena?"

"I'm here." Elena's voice sounded a million miles away.

"Did you know about Damon's relationship with Pastor Young?"

Elena tried to make a sound, but didn't quite manage.

"Elena?" Bonnie's voice held a hint of concern. "You okay?"

"How did you know about their relationship?" Somehow, her voice sounded reasonably normal. But Elena was clutching her phone so tight her hand had gone numb.

"I saw it on the internet. Didn't you know about it?"

"Where?"

"Everywhere," Bonnie said, though now she was sounding like she was wishing she hadn't called. "Elena, what's up?"

"What are they talking about?"

"Elena, please calm down."

"Dammit, Bonnie just tell me." Elena split the words out, then immediately winced.

"They said Pastor Young is Damon's biological father." Elena heard her drew a breath. "Pastor and Lillian had an affair before she married Giuseppe Salvatore."

Elena closed her eyes as if to block out the truth as she continued.

"Because of the old feud between your father and Pastor Young, they said Damon very likely has a reason to agree to take on the Dunham Lake project."

"Right." Elena was not sure how she managed to say the word, because she was pretty sure she was about to hyperventilate.

"They will be even more on top of you when they realize you guys are seeing each other, but I don't think the press has clued in to that yet."

"Gee. I can hardly wait." Elena tried to keep voice light, but she couldn't help but fear that if the press realized she was starchitect Damon Salvatore's girlfriend, they would start digging even deeper.

"The phone has been ringing off the hook in the last one hour. Most of the calls are from reporters, but you also had calls from two of the board members who want to talk to you immediately. I suspect the reporters will eventually turn up at Gilbert International."

Elena tried to concentrate but her insides were trembling with sick dread. "Did John or my father call?"

"No, not yet but I'm sure they will call soon," Bonnie said. "Enzo wants instructions. So do I!"

Sooner or later a reporter would dig up the reasons for Lillian' s marriage to Giuseppe. Someone would talk—a servant, an orderly at the hospital—and the world was going to know that she was pregnant with Pastor Young's child but Pastor couldn't marry her because of his rising political career. It suddenly hit Elena then, this would be a scandal for both Pastor and the Salvatore family.

She suddenly thought of Damon and what this was going to do to him, and she felt violently ill. When people had learnt he was Pastor Young's unwanted child, his reputation and character would be destroyed beyond recall…

"Elena, please—tell me what to do." Bonnie's imploring voice seemed to come from very far away. "The phone on my desk is ringing right now."

"Give me time to think. Don't give any comments." Her words were short. "I have to go," she added, then hung up before Bonnie could respond.

Elena knew she needed to get out of here. She needed to get to Damon. She clenched her fists at her sides, trying to calm herself down, because she could feel both panic and fears rising inside her.

 _Okay,_ she thought. _You can do this. Car. Home. Damon._

 _Go._

As soon as she was inside her car, she yanked the door closed and clutched tight to the steering wheel.

 _Good. I'm good. I just need to get to Damon._

But her hand was shaking when she tried to put the key in the ignition. She tried again, but still she couldn't quite make it. Elena cursed and tossed her keys across the car, which was stupid, because now they had bounced off the window and fallen between the passenger seat and door. And she was trapped here, and she was panicking, because she just needed to get to Damon.

How was Damon going to react when he read the news on the internet?

How did the press know about this?

Damon would never tell the press about his relationship with Pastor Young.

She felt her stomach tighten. Her father.

Elena winced. Her father wouldn't do something like this, would he?

 _Because of the old feud between your father and Pastor Young, they said Damon very likely has a reason to agree to take on the Dunham Lake project._

She knew Damon. He wouldn't stoop to such a thing just to score points off a Gilbert.

But her father would. Revenge. Her father wanted revenge. He had believed the Salvatore and Mikaelson were behind the blackmails.

"Oh, god!"

Elena couldn't fight anymore. She couldn't hold it in.

And just as the tears started to flow, she heard the squeal of tires and then the slam of a car door.

She didn't lift head. She no longer cared who saw her. She just had to let go. She just had to cry. She just had to survive this, even though she was not at all sure how to do that.

But then her door was jerked open, and Elena felt his hand on her arm.

And he was pulling her out, and his hands were on her face, and he was saying to her, "Open your eyes. Dammit, Elena, open your eyes."

Damon.

His eyes were wild. His brow furrowed with concern.

"You came," Elena said stupidly. "You are here."

"Of course I am," Damon said, as he pulled her close and held her tight. "You are okay. You will be okay."

"How did you know?" Elena was still in shock that Damon was here. Still so desperately grateful that his arms were tight around her.

"Caroline," Damon said. "She saw the news, and when she called and you didn't answer, she called me."

"Have you seen them?" Elena asked.

"Yes." Damon steered her back to her car, but opened the back door. "Come sit with me."

Elena slid into the backseat, and Damon got in beside her.

"I want to see."

Damon handed her his phone, his web browser already opened to the proper page. "Oh, my God!" she breathed, her stricken gaze flying over the print. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to read more slowly. Then she browsed further and read the more sensational and personal article on that page. Finished, she looked at Damon with glazed panic in her eyes. "Oh, my God," she whispered again.

Damon said nothing.

"There are others, aren't there?"

He nodded and closed his eyes, his entire body tensed. Elena understood why—he was fighting for control the same way that she was.

"I hate it," she admitted. "Not knowing what is coming next. Even having these out there bothers me. I mean, I know that the public doesn't know the backstory, but I still hate it. I don't like anything about it at all."

Elena kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the seat so that she could hug her knees. She was wearing a skirt, but it was loose, and it draped over her legs like a blanket.

Damon's arm was already around her, but now he pulled her closer. "It's okay. We will survive this."

She almost laughed. "You are a lot of things, Damon Salvatore, and I know that you are a man who likes to be in control. But I'm pretty sure this one is out of your hands."

For a moment, Elena thought Damon was going to argue, but instead he just looked at her. "I can survive anything as long as you are with me."

"I'm so sorry I brought this on you," she said softly, feeling guilty.

"You didn't."

"It could be my father or John…"

"Shh."

He put a hand on her knees and eased her legs down, turning her a bit as he did so that she was sitting sideways in the backseat with her legs over his thighs. She was not wearing hose, and as he stroked her calf, Elena closed her eyes, enjoying the sensation of his fingers upon her skin.

"They are just poking into me, you know," Damon said. "They found this connection, and it is interesting because of the resort." His hand stopped moving, cupping her leg. "And to make things worse, I beat the crap out of Marko."

Elena nodded.

"That is where the next round of idiotic tabloid coverage is going to focus. My shit." He cupped her chin so that he could look her in the eyes; his were warm and tender and concerned. "It has nothing to do with you, okay?"

"Okay." Elena drew in a breath. Damon still hadn't told her why he didn't want the movie made. All she knew was that Reed was producing a feature film that was based on the events surrounding a residential property in Santa Fe that Damon designed and built. It was an exceptional house that sealed his reputation as one of the world's most talented contemporary architects.

She had read all about it at the time, both because she was following Damon's career, despite the fact that they weren't together then. And because she had followed it, she knew what came after—a murder-suicide that tainted the spectacular property, forever burying the exquisite architecture under a layer of scandal.

Though Elena hadn't read the script, she had been told that it focused on the family, but that Damon played a role, too, supposedly as the reason the young woman took her own life and that of one of her sisters.

And though she knew that Damon was long gone by the time the murder took place, she also knew that it was true he didn't want the movie made. Not only had he told her so, but she also knew that he punched out the screenwriter.

Reed and Marko, however, weren't the kind to back down. And although nobody really knew what was the feud between Marko and Damon so many years ago, as far as the public knows, that assault was Damon's way to, once again, express his displeasure about the in-development project.

One day, she wanted Damon to tell her the full story behind the house and the secret he was so determined to protect. Right now, though, she only wanted to make sure Damon would survive this.

"I know you will do whatever you can," Elena told him. "But that doesn't erase my fear that it is going to turn into something terrible that can destroy your family and Pastor Young."

"Nothing is going to happen." His voice was gentle, and his hand was stroking her leg again. "Nothing terrible will happen."

"Are you sure?" she whispered, not sounding convinced.

"Do you trust me?"

As Damon spoke, he continued to stroke her leg. Only now his touches were going higher, skimming under her skirt above her knee. Grazing along her inner thigh.

The movements were casual, almost innocent. As if he was not even aware that he was doing it. But Elena knew that he was, of course. Damon did nothing unintentionally. And right now, he was very slowly and very methodically teasing her senses. Getting her very wet, and very, very turned on.

"Do you trust me?" he repeated.

Elena nodded.

"Say it." Though his voice was soft, his words were firm. Deliberate.

"Yes." Her word was a whisper.

"Good girl," he said, and then he very gently stroked the edge of her panties between her thigh and her crotch before cruelly pulling his hand away.

Elena actually whimpered.

"Oh, yes," Damon said with a grin. "You like it."

Elena felt her cheeks heated, but she could hardly deny the truth. Not when her body tingled with anticipation. Not when she knew that right now she would do anything he asked of her if the prize was Damon's touch.

"Take off your panties."

She licked her lips. "Why?"

His eyes flicked to her. "Because I told you to," he said, and Elena immediately melted, her cunt going wet and her nipples straining against her bra. "Because you said you trust me."

She met his eyes and nodded. And then, because she was both aroused and inspired, she whispered, "Yes, sir," and was rewarded with his low, sensual growl of approval.

"Now," Damon said, and Elena didn't hesitate. She reached under her skirt and wiggled out of her panties, then dropped them on the floorboard.

"Good girl. Now take out my cock."

Elena glanced down and see his erection straining against jeans that were so tight now it must be painful.

"Damon…"

"Hesitation?" She heard the tease in his voice. "Sounds to me like the lady wants to be punished."

Frankly, the lady might enjoy that. But since the most keen punishment would be to not touch her at all, she shook her head.

"Then do as I said. Take out my cock, and then fuck me. Slide that sweet cunt onto my cock, and ride me."

His raw words were like a sensual tease, and her body clenched in response, so sensitive now that even the brush of clothing over her skin seemed like an erotic exploration.

Elena wanted this—oh, dear god, she just wanted to do as he said, losing herself in the knowledge that surrendering to his demands would make the pleasure that much sweeter.

But even so, she continued to hesitate. "We are in the parking lot."

"And no one is around. And we are in the backseat of a car with tinted windows." Damon lifted a shoulder. "But you are in control, baby. You want to stop, we stop. Anytime, no questions asked."

Her mouth had gone suddenly dry, and Elena licked her lips.

"Do you trust me?" he asked, as if in response to her hesitation.

"You know I do."

Elena could see on his face that her answer pleased him. "Then trust me to take you far and keep you safe."

She swallowed, but she nodded. "I don't want to stop."

The corner of his mouth curved up. But all he said was "Then fuck me."

Elena manoeuvred her position in the backseat so that she was straddling his legs, most of her weight at his knees. She leaned forward and stroked his erection through his jeans, then revelled in a surge of feminine satisfaction when he tilted his head back and moaned with pleasure.

She unfastened his jeans. They had a button fly, and she manoeuvred her fingers over each button slowly and methodically, enjoying this moment of power. He was wearing boxer briefs, and she reached into the fly and eased him free. And then, because Elena just couldn't resist, she slid off him and onto the floorboards, spreading his knees as she did.

She glanced at his face just once and then bent forward and ran her tongue along the length of his cock. He tasted earthy and male, and she was tempted to suck him off, but she was selfish, too, and my cunt was throbbing with need, practically begging to be filled.

Elena circled his cock with one hand as she teased the crown with her tongue. But she slipped the other between her own legs, unsurprised to find that she was so wet her thighs were creamy.

"Now," Damon demanded. "I want to be inside you now."

Since Elena wanted exactly the same thing, she didn't hesitate. She rose up and straddled him again, this time easing forward so that she was over his hips. She held his cock steady, her eyes on his as she gyrated her hips, teasing him before lowering herself so hard and so fast that the tip of his cock hit her cervix and she felt the denim of his jeans rubbed against her ass.

One of his hands was on her lower back to balance her, but the other was between their bodies, and he was touching her, stroking and teasing her clit as she held on to his shoulders and lifted and lowered herself, the sensation building and building, and all the more exciting because they were in a car and they were clothed and there was something that just felt so wicked about that.

Damon leaned forward and closed his mouth over her breast, teasing her through the cotton of her shirt and the lace of her bra, and that extra sensation tipped the scales. Suddenly, it was all too much, and everything that had been building inside of her began to spiral, wild and out of control.

"Please," Elena begged as the climax rose up, ready to sweep her away. "Damon, please come with me."

And then she was reaching up, her hands pressed against the roof of the car, because the explosion was too strong, and she had to hold on to something to keep from shooting off into space as every atom in her body went absolutely nuclear.

"Oh, my god," she murmured when she finally collapsed back onto him, her head bent down to tuck against his shoulder. "I'm completely shattered."

"Completely?"

There was humour in his question, and Elena gathered enough strength to pull back so that she could face him. "That's just a figure of speech." She leaned forward so that her lips brushed his ear, and as she did she slipped her hand down to where their bodies were still joined and teased the base of his penis with the edge of her finger. "I want more," she whispered. "Lots more."

"Then that works out exceptionally well. Because more is exactly what you are going to get."

Damon shifted her off him, then nodded toward the front seat. "Get your things. We are taking my car. Except your panties," he added. "Leave those here."

"Damon!" Her protest, however, was only for form, and Elena eagerly grabbed her bag. Then remembered that she had thrown her keys across the car, and they had disappeared into some crevice or other. It took a moment to find them, but as soon as she did, she locked her car and joined him in the Camaro.

"I bought you something," Damon said as soon as she was settled in the seat beside him.

"Really?" The thought of a present made Elena glowed a bit.

"I told you I had errands to run today. One of them was for you." He leaned across her to open the glove box, then pulled out a small, pink gift bag. He dangled it from his index finger. "For you," Damon said, then grinned. "I hope you will like it. I hardly buy gift for women."

Her brows rose. "Oh, really?" Now Elena was even more intrigued, and she peeked into the bag, then pulled out a flat velvet box, which was discreetly embossed with the name of a Chicago jeweller, followed by the name of a Chicago hotel.

"I'm completely clueless," Elena admitted.

"There is no prize for the best guess," Damon said. "Go ahead. Open it."

Since she loved presents, she eagerly complied. She opened the catch. On a bed of white velvet was a spectacular ruby pendant surrounded by a row of dazzling diamonds.

"It is beautiful."

She whipped her head around to look at him, not sure if she was aghast or excited or just completely befuddled.

"It must be expensive."

"It is," he said. "But you are worth it, princess."

Tears of tenderness filled Elena's eyes, and sweetness pierced her heart. "Thank you."

He smiled. "I want you to wear it. In fact, sweetheart, I want you to wear it all day, every day."

"I—what?"

"You heard me."

"But—"

"No buts." He reached over and brushed his lips over hers. "This is my first gift for you," he said, "so you will have to wear it all day, every day—except when you are not wearing it at my command. Are we clear?"

Elena laughed. "Yes, sir," she said. "You are bossy, aren't you?"

He chuckled. "I'm bossy but you still love me."

"Yes, I love you, Damon Salvatore."

"I love you too, Elena Gilbert."


	20. Chapter 20

Damon was not beside her when Elena woke in the middle of the night, and although she tried to drift back to sleep, she couldn't seem to manage it without Damon beside her.

She found his T-shirt on the floor and put it on, wanting the scent of him more than she wanted the warmth of a robe. Of course, as she climbed topside, Elena began to regret that. In Mystic Falls early of the year by the ocean, there was a definite chill.

Fortunately, Damon was not outside, so Elena was not too cold when she found him in his office, which was made from the converted entertainment and living area on this exceptional floating home.

Damon was sitting at his desk, facing the blackness of the ocean and a few sparkling lights from the town in the distance. He was flipping through a folder, and from where Elena stood at the top of the stairs, she could see that the documents inside were photographs and sketches.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered, and Elena took a step toward him, curious.

"Damon?"

Damon looked up, and she was grateful that he looked happy to see her and not irritated that she was intruding. "Hey. Couldn't sleep?"

"Not without you beside me."

He held out his hand for her, his smile tender. "Then I apologize for leaving. Come here."

Elena did, and Damon slid his arm around her waist as she looked down at the documents he was studying. They were his sketches. And she could see that his reaction was identical to hers—no matter who followed him, the resort would suffer for it.

"It is not going to be as good," Damon said, although Elena was not sure if he was talking to himself, to her, or to the universe at large.

She sighed. "No, it is not." She licked her lips, and then voiced the thing that had been troubling her. "I'm sorry."

"We have had this discussion. Your father is the one who has fired me. You were just the messenger."

"Not for that. For staying."

"What?" Damon looked genuinely baffled.

"I could have walked out, too. I probably should have."

"No." He shook his head vehemently. "Good god, Elena, did you think that I would want you to?"

"I don't know," Elena said honestly. "Didn't you?"

"This is your project. Your concept. Your baby. Of course I don't want you to toss it away for me. I'm the best—I'm not going to argue that point—but no matter who you end up with, it will still be an excellent resort, and you are the reason why." Damon pulled her close and kissed her forehead. "I would never ask you to walk away from something you love, and you shouldn't ever do that. Not without a reason that makes sense. And misplaced loyalty isn't a good reason."

"My loyalty isn't misplaced," Elena said.

"No, you are right. But the urge to quit because of me is."

Elena thought about it. "Maybe," she said. I'm honestly not sure. But I do know that I am relieved that my father isn't angry with me. And, more than that, that he doesn't even want me to go."

"So who will you pick to fill my very large shoes?"

"My father wants Wes back on the project. Did I tell you he was less than enthusiastic about Dubai?"

"Good god."

"I know." Elena dragged fingers through her hair. "Even if you are gone—which sucks—but even if you are, surely I can find someone better than him. Someone with more enthusiasm, at least. I mean, Wes actually walked off. I don't want him back."

"Say so. It is your project, after all."

She considered that. And Damon was right. "It is my project," she said firmly. "And if my father can veto you, then I can veto Wes."

Damon grinned at her. "That is my girl. Can you hold on to that attitude in the face of your father?"

Elena made a face. "I guess we will see."

"Well, good for you." He put his hand over hers. "Apparently I'm just going to sit back and say to hell with it." He pushed away from the table and rose from his stool. "Dammit, that is just not me. I don't take shit lying down. I never have."

"Then why now?"

"Because I don't want to antagonise your father." He exhaled slowly. "I don't want you to get caught in the middle."

"Damon…"

"I don't want him to come in between the two of us ever." Damon made a derisive noise in his throat. "Now your father has his finger on the control button and I absolutely hate it."

"So take it back. Take control back from him. You are good at that."

Damon had been facing opposite her, but now he turned, and Elena could see that he was considering something. "You are right," he said as his expression cleared and a wide grin spread across his face. "I absolutely am."

He pulled her to a kiss. "Come on. It is late, and you have work tomorrow."

"I do," Elena said. She gently traced her finger over his fading bruises. He was shirtless, wearing only sweatpants that are loosely tied at his waist. "How are they?"

"Better."

She pressed her palm against the largest one and felt his muscles quivered under her touch. She bit back a satisfied smile, delighted to see such tangible evidence that Damon desired her as much as she did him. "I hope so. They still look painful."

"Better now with you," Damon amended.

Elena slowly slid down to her knees, her fingers plucking at the drawstring of his sweats as she descended.

"Something on your mind, Miss Gilbert?" He sounded both amused and aroused. And his erection—now growing beneath the thin material—was certainly proof of the latter.

"I believe we discussed playing doctor?"

"Did we?"

"Mmm-hmm." She tugged loose the drawstring, and then let the sweats fell off him, although she did have to rearrange the material a bit to free his growing erection.

His sweats pool around his ankles, and as they did Elena leaned forward and licked the tip of his cock.

"Oh, dear god," Damon said, and twined his fingers in her hair. "What the hell are you doing?"

Elena laughed. "Sweetheart, if you don't know—" And then, because she was inspired, she grinned up at him. "I'm taking your temperature," she said, and then took him into her mouth as deep as she could.

He tasted wonderful. So male. So Damon.

And as she stroked and licked and teased, his cock tightened, and Damon groaned in a way that made her went completely wet. And although she didn't want to stop—although she loved this jolt of feminine power—right at this moment, Elena desperately wanted him inside her.

As if Damon could read her mind, he slowly pulled back, freeing his cock and then easing her up.

"What is wrong?"

"Not a thing," he said as he scooped her up and cradled her next to his bare chest. "Except that I think I might just die if I can't lay you out on the bed and have my way with you right now."

"Oh." A wonderfully sensual tremor rolled through Elena. "Well, in that case, who am I to stop a man with a plan?"

x x x

"I have to be honest. I'm not thrilled with any of them. But I'm definitely vetoing Wes."

"Are you?" Grayson lifted a single brow, obviously amused.

They were in the sitting area of his office, with Elena on the small sofa and Grayson in a chair across a low coffee table from her. She had put together files of every possible architect for the Dunham Lake project, and she was holding them in her lap, ready to run through each candidate's pros and cons. Now she leaned forward and put the stack on the table, then sat back and crossed her legs, hoping she looked more confident and in control than she felt.

"Yes, Mr Gilbert," Elena said firmly. "I am."

"Mr Gilbert." Grayson stood up and moved to the bar across the room. "I was wondering how pissed off you were. I guess now I know."

Elena didn't try to deny it. She had never called her father Mr Gilbert since she had joined Gilbert International. So yes, the fact that she called him Mr Gilbert just now was her passive-aggressive way of telling him that as far as she was concerned he was making a huge mistake by cutting Damon from the project.

John poured himself a shot of scotch, neat. "Care for one?"

Elena glanced at her watch. It was a quarter to five, and she figured that was good enough. "Hell, yes."

Grayson chuckled, and then returned with a glass for each of them. "I take it we are not drinking to Wes Maxfield?"

"I mean it, Dad. I have spent days staring at his concept sketches and they are just not up to snuff. You vetoed my choice without asking for my input despite the fact that I'm the project manager—"

"I just thought what with me owning the company and all…"

"No," Elena said, the words spilling out before she could censor herself. "That is not what you were thinking and we both know it. Shit." She lifted the glass and took a long drink. "Sorry. Apparently I'm in the mood today to commit career suicide. All I'm saying is that you don't want Damon and I don't want Wes. So there you go."

She took another sip of the drink and tried to look as calm and composed as possible despite the fact that inside her head she was running a steady stream of damn damn damn damn.

For a moment, Grayson said nothing, and Elena didn't have a clue what he was thinking.

And that was really not a good sign.

"Listen, I'm sorry. This whole thing is a sore spot and I know that, and I shouldn't have said anything." Elena stood and started to gather the files. "We will find another time to discuss this again. I just think that now is not the right time and—"

"Sit."

Elena hesitated, then complied. But she kept the files in her lap in case a quick escape was called for.

"So if Wes is out, who does that leave us with?"

She tilted her head a bit. "Really?"

"You say he is not up to snuff, and so I believe you. Who should we consider then?"

Elena was tempted to tell him that no one even came close to Damon, but she didn't want to upset this shaky detente. "Bill Tanner work is quite interesting." She opened the top folder and pulled out a photograph of a hotel in Richmond that put Tanner on the map three years ago.

She had done an extensive research on architectural since she had taken up the job at Gilbert International, she thought Tanner was one of the most talented architects working today. Even so, as far as she was concerned, he was sloppy seconds.

Still, Elena was in cooperation-mode, and so she passed the picture and the folder to Grayson, who studied her notes as she continued speaking. "He has done a number of hotels, so he understands the travel and entertainment aspects. But he has never worked on an all-out resort, so I think the project would intrigue him."

"Looks promising. What is the downside?"

"He has a reputation for being difficult," Elena admitted. "But despite that he is very in demand. Which raises the second mark against him—his schedule is incredibly tight. I talked to his people, and he is finishing up a project right now, but he was planning on taking three months off. If we bring him in, he is going to up his fee to cover the inconvenience of cancelling his holidays."

Grayson nodded, taking it all in. "Who else?"

Elena opened the next folder. "Jo Parker."

"She did quite a few buildings in Seattle. I have met her."

"She is also done some really interesting residential work that I think might translate to the bungalows near the lake." Elena was passing a photograph of one of Parker's houses to Grayson when his intercom buzzed.

"I know you said no interruptions," Rachel says, "but Mr Salvatore is here. And since you are already meeting with Miss Gilbert, I thought I should let you know that he would like a moment of your time."

Elena realized that she had frozen in place, her arm outstretched, and her body tense. She had been that way since Rachel said Damon's name.

Grayson looked at her, and then took the photograph, and the movement seemed to break the spell. She sat back, hoping desperately that her father could not tell how violently her heart now beat against her rib cage.

"All right," Grayson said as he put the Parker's photograph on the coffee table, right on top of the Bill Tanner's file. "Send him in."

A moment passed, then another. Then the door opened and Damon strode in.

That morning, Damon had told her that he intended to spend the day on his boat, working out of his office there on some minor projects that his Los Angeles staffs were handling. So when Rachel announced him, Elena expected to see him in casual attire. Not swim trunks, but nothing more tailored than nice jeans and a starched button-down. Probably even with canvas shoes and windswept hair.

But that was not the man who entered.

Damon strode into Grayson's office as if he owned it, and he was certainly dressed for the role. He wore a charcoal grey Armani suit with a crisp white shirt and an arctic blue tie that almost perfectly matched the colour of his eyes. It was the uniform of a corporate warrior, and Damon had come to do battle.

He moved toward them without hesitating, apparently unperturbed that Grayson had not risen in greeting. He stopped at the edge of the oriental rug that defined this area of Grayson's huge office, then inclined his head. "Mr Gilbert," he said, and then turned to Elena without waiting for a reply. He took two steps towards her, and then took her hand and very gently kissed her fingertips. "Elena. I'm very glad you are here."

His eyes lingered on hers for a moment, and although Elena searched his face for a hint of what was to come, she saw nothing. Damon was cool and confident and holding his cards very, very close to the vest.

Grayson indicated an empty chair. "Please. Have a seat."

"I prefer to stand."

"Suit yourself." Grayson leaned back in his own chair, his control just as intact, his expression just as unreadable. "What can I do for you, Mr Salvatore?"

"You can let me back on the resort."

Grayson steeple his fingers beneath his chin. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you made a mistake when you fired me."

"Did I? Or are you just hoping to coast on a misplaced belief that I'm going to be swayed by your relationship with my daughter?"

"Not hardly," Damon said, taking a step forward. "As far as my work is concerned, relationship doesn't mean shit. I'm here because I'm the best. You came to me because I'm the best. You wanted me on this project because of my vision and my talent, and yet you tossed me off for reasons that have nothing to do with my work. Honestly, Mr Gilbert. You surprise me."

"And yet you were the one who raised the issue of family. And not when you were brought on board—when it would have made rational sense to mention it. No, you waited, timing the revelation to suit your own purpose."

"No purpose," Damon said. "No agenda. I told Elena because I didn't want that secret between the two of us, but I have told nobody else, and I don't intend to. And I told you because I couldn't in good conscience expect her to keep that large a secret from her father. That was my purpose, Mr Gilbert. Not because I want any special consideration on this project or any other. My work stands on its own, or it doesn't stand at all."

For a moment Grayson said nothing, but Elena thought it was respect that she saw on her father's face. Then he nodded—just one simple incline of his head. "Go on."

"This is a unique, innovative project. I will admit I didn't want to be a part of it at first, but I'm invested now. I'm not losing Dunham Lake. Not without a fight."

Elena pressed her lips tight together. She knew that Damon blamed her father for their break-up ten years ago. Although she had never told him the reasons, she had suspected Damon was aware of that her father had quitted the campaign straight after their break-up.

Grayson remained silent, and during his silence, Damon glanced at her. His gaze lingered for less than a second, and yet even in that brief span of time Elena saw the heat on his face. The need in his eyes.

"I walked away once before from something that was important to me." He didn't look at her again, and yet Elena knew without the slightest doubt that he was talking about her. "That was a mistake. I should have stayed. I should have fought." He cocked his head. "I have learned my lesson, Mr Gilbert. You want me gone, I will go. But I'm not leaving until I have done my damnedest to convince you to let me stay."

Elena realized she was holding her breath, and she tried to fill her lungs without gasping. So far she had managed to fade into the seat cushion, but now Grayson turned to face her, his expression entirely unreadable. She expected her father to ask her to leave. Instead, he levered himself out of his chair and crossed to his window. He stood there for a moment, looking out at the world like a monarch surveying his kingdom.

She wanted to look at Damon, but she also didn't want to move. Right now, she was cautiously optimistic, and she was afraid that even breathing wrong would shift the balance. It was not a risk she was willing to take. And so Elena stayed as she was, looking forward, several files still clutched in her lap.

After what felt like hours but was in fact less than a minute, Grayson returned. He took the Tanner and Parker materials from the coffee table, then handed them to Damon. "We have identified possible replacements. All exceptional architects. All without baggage."

"No one is without baggage," Damon said, and she was relieved to see the corner of Grayson's mouth twitched just slightly.

"I will concede that point to you, Mr Salvatore," Grayson said. "But I still want an answer. Why you and not them?"

"I'm better." Damon was looking directly at Grayson, and his gaze never wavered.

"You are very confident."

"I am," Damon agreed. "I'm also very capable."

Once again, Grayson looked at Elena. "Elena seemed to think you are the choice for the job, too."

"She is a very smart woman."

"Yes," Grayson agreed. "She is."

He went to the bar, and returned with a single glass of scotch. He handed it to Damon, then took his own from the coffee table and raised it in a toast. "All right, Mr Salvatore," he said "You are in. Don't make me regret it."

Grayson kept Elena in his office after Damon departed. They discussed resort management and the need to start recruiting and training top-level staff. They bounced ideas about advertising and promotion. They talked about recreation and whether they should keep dive instructors and a tennis pro on the full-time staff.

All stuff that had to be addressed, of course, but none of it was time sensitive, and Elena honestly couldn't decide if he was keeping her in his office out of spite or in order to maintain a sense of normalcy.

Or, possibly, he simply wanted to clear stuff off his to-do list.

"All right," Grayson said after the longest forty-five minutes of her life. "I guess that is it for the day. I hope we haven't missed anything?"

"Nothing." Elena stood and gathered her things. "We have covered a lot of things today."

"Good." Grayson met her eyes. "You are doing a great job, Elena. But I suppose I will be losing you to tenth soon enough."

"Will you?" Elena couldn't keep the spark of interest out of her voice.

Grayson leaned casually against his desk. "I will be honest. John and I wouldn't have given you the project manager position if we didn't believe that you could handle it. But handling and excelling isn't the same thing."

"Oh." She started to say thank you, but held her tongue. Just to make certain she knew where her father was going with this.

"If you want to excel at something, you can't let anything or anyone stand in your way." He nodded towards the files she now held in her hands. "You stood up for what you wanted today. That showed balls."

"With all due respect, if you would want to block me, there is not a lot I could have done about it." Elena glanced at him and smiled wryly. "What with you owning the company and all."

"Touché, Elena. I will rephrase. You endeavoured not to let anyone stand in your way."

She cocked her head, thinking about that. "Is that why you let Damon back on? Because he did the same thing?"

"That is part of it." The admission surprised her.

"And the rest?"

"Because he is the best damn architect working." He took one more sip of his scotch. "There is no doubt he is very talented," he added, and Elena barked out a laugh.

She swallowed the sound soon enough. "Can I ask you a question, Dad?"

"Of course you can."

"Did you tell the press about Damon's relationship with Pastor Young?"

He said nothing for a moment, and Elena wished she could take back the question. Then he sighed and swallowed the whiskey that was left in the glass. "Do you think I'm seeking for revenge?"

"I…I don't know," she muttered.

"You do care about him, don't you?" he asked gently.

"I love him, Dad."

Grayson sighed again. "You aren't a child anymore, Elena. You know what is best for yourself."

There was a brief silence.

"I better get back to work," Elena said eventually. "Is there anything else you want to talk about?"

"No. I think that's all for now."

"Okay." She headed towards the door.

"Actually, there is one more thing."

Elena paused and looked back over her shoulder.

"You should give your Mum a call. I know she misses you. Maybe we can meet up for dinner."

She nodded. "Sounds good." And then, because she understood that this wasn't about business anymore, but about family, Elena added, "Thanks."

As soon as the door shut behind her, Elena couldn't stop grinning. She wanted to go see Damon.

Since she had energy to burn, she took the stairs, stopping at her desk to grab up her notes. Then she hurried down the last flight, her heels clattering on the concrete stairs, and slammed, breathless, through the stairwell door.

Elena leaned against the wall as she caught her breath. The stairs exit only a few yards from Damon's office area, and she had an excellent view of him through the glass walls. He was sitting on a stool in front of the very same drafting table on which he had made love to her so thoroughly. And although his head was bent, she could see enough of his face to catch his expression and it was both intent and rapturous.

He was in his element, and that simple realization made Elena so giddy that she had half a mind to race back upstairs and wrap her father in a hug.

She managed to restrain herself. Instead, she took a single step towards Damon.

Despite his intense concentration, the moment she moved, Damon inclined his head, as if sensing her presence. He didn't look up, though, and so she continued on.

"I'm back," he said as she reached his doorway, still without looking in her direction.

Her smile bloomed wide. "Yes, you are."

Damon pushed away from the desk, the stool rolling easily on the concrete floor. As he did, Elena rushed to him, practically flying into his open arms. She dropped her notes on his desk then straddled him, and he spin them in the chair. When it stopped, her back was pressed against the table, and she was more than a little light-headed. But whether that was from dizziness or from being in Damon's arms, she didn't know.

"You are back." Her whisper echoed his earlier words, and Elena pressed her hand gently to his crotch. "And I know just what you want to do now."

His brow lifted. "Is that so?"

"Mm-hmm." She bent forward so that her lips brushed his ear as she murmured, very low and very seductively, "You want to work."

Her other hand was on his back for balance, and the vibrations from his laughter rolled through her. "Sweetheart, you do know how to turn a man on."

"You don't know the half of it. Did you see the folder I tossed on your desk?" Elena leaned back so that she could see him, then thrust out her tits and slowly bit her lower lip in her best imitation of an X-rated movie star. "Building notes and specs," she said huskily. "It is like porn for architects."

His expression didn't change, but she saw the mirth in his eyes.

She reached back and grabbed the folder, then waved it slowly through the air. "Come on, baby. You know you want it."

"Oh, I want it all right." With one quick gesture, Damon wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, leaving her gasping. "But forget the porn," he said. "What I want is you. This project. This moment. And thank god I have got everything I want right here in front of me."

Her heart fluttered in her chest. "Me, too," Elena said as he pulled her down for a long, slow kiss. And although she meant the words with all her heart, she couldn't help but fear what tomorrow might bring.

That was okay, though. Because Damon was right; this moment was perfect.

And right now, that was enough.

x x x

Weekend came. Damon and Elena drove to have Sunday brunch with Klaus and Caroline. Elena ate too much, played too hard in the sun, and spent the drive back feeling sleepy and satisfied.

"I need to take care of some things at Destiny," Damon said. "Do you mind?"

"Of course not. I can have a rest while you are gone. But I'm still fixing you dinner tonight, right? My parents are having dinner with me next weekend, so I really want the night with you."

"You got it," he said. "You are meeting them at their house?"

Elena nodded. She had decided that she needed to tell her parents her decision in person. She knew they might not be happy with her decision but she didn't want to hide her relationship with Damon anymore.

"I will be back by seven," Damon promised as he dropped her at her house. She changed into jeans and a T-shirt, then drove to the supermarket and returned with two full shopping bags. More food than they needed, Elena was sure, but she wanted everything to be perfect.

She had just set one of the bags down so that she could punch the doorbell when Matt got out from his car.

"Let me get that for you," he said, picking up the bag.

"It is fine. I have it." Elena grabbed the bag up. "What do you want, Matt?"

"We need to talk."

"I don't think we have anything to talk about."

"Yeah," he said. "We do."

Elena was annoyed. "What is this about?"

"Your boyfriend," he said, his voice hard. "Let's talk inside."

She went still. "I…Fine."

She rang the doorbell and Maria opened the door immediately. Once inside the house, Elena headed straight for the kitchen, hoping to use that time to gather herself, but when she came back to the living room, she didn't feel gathered at all. She sat stiffly on the sofa, stared at him, and told him to cut to the chase.

"You know the truth," he said without preamble.

"What?"

"Don't even pretend not to understand me," he said. "Damon Salvatore and Pastor Young." He spat each name, and her heart twisted a little with each one.

"What's with them?" she asked, trying to sound a little bored and a lot confident. "What are you trying to imply?"

"Damon Salvatore's birth father," he said, his words chilling her.

Elena wanted to tell him that she didn't have a clue what he was talking about, but that would be a lie. "

"What exactly are you suggesting?" she asked icily.

"Pastor Young is Damon's birth father. Lillian was already pregnant with Damon when she married Giuseppe Salvatore. Damon is not a Salvatore."

Elena felt light-headed, and realized that she had been shaking her head almost from the moment he had started talking. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because he doesn't deserve you," he said. "And because you deserve a much better man than him."

"No." Elena stood up. "You are wrong. I know what I want and who I want to be with."

Matt stood up as well. "Elena, I had told you about what kind of mess Damon was involved a few years back. Not only Damon. Klaus and Alaric are also involved. All sorts of shit. They are in deep, Elena. And the longer you stay tied to them, the deeper you sink, too."

"No, you are wrong," she said. She would never believe that the three knights were into that kind of shit.

"You are dating him, right? That has you mixed up in this mess, too. Not a good place to be, Elena. And it is definitely not a good place for your father to be," he added, the words sending a chill up her spine. "Not when there are already rumours about the reasons your father quitted the campaign ten years ago. The press gets hold of something like this, and it won't be pretty."

"You unimaginable bastard."

"I'm not the bastard. Damon is. Him and his friends." He looked at her. "I still care about you, Elena. Nothing has changed my feelings for you all these years."

She swallowed hard. "I'm tired, Matt. Please leave."

"Elena…"

"Please leave."

Elena stayed on the sofa as Matt let himself out, and she was still there hours later when Damon arrived. She didn't even hear Maria let him in. She didn't even realize he was in the house until he sat on the edge of the coffee table in front of her.

She had drawn a blanket around her, but even beneath the flannel, she was cold and numb.

"Are you sick?" Damon asked, leaning in to press a warm hand against her forehead.

She shook her head. "Matt was here," she said.

His jaw tightened. "What did Donovan want?"

She shook her head again, and then met his eyes. "He said Klaus, Alaric and you are into some sort of illegal activities. He had warned me about you ten years ago."

Damon looked at her warily. "What are you going to do, Elena?"

Elena sighed. "I…I don't know. I remembered you kept telling me you were bad for me years ago but I didn't believe it. I still don't believe you are bad, Damon. I want to fight for you. I want to fight for us."

"Sweetheart, listen to me." He took her hands and squeezed them tight. "I want us to work as well."

"But?"

"Damn." He ran his hands through his hair, and his eyes looked wild and desperate. "You mean a lot to me, Elena. But there are certain things you can't and shouldn't know."

"Like why you won't do the movie?" she asked.

"Dammit, Elena…"

"Look, Damon," Elena said as she stood up. "I trust you. And I hope you can learn to trust me as well."

He said nothing but looked at her with his blue eyes, so flooded with pain that she had to look away.

"I'm tired," she mumbled. "I want to be alone tonight."

x x x

"Why don't we go in through the main entrance?" Elena asked Caroline as they entered through the rear service area of Destiny. The kitchen and storerooms were back here, along with lockers for the employees. The area was relatively quiet and definitely not crowded, and going from this back area to the main floor of the club was like being thrust into Fantasia.

"Because I like the feeling of sneaking in," Caroline said with a grin. "Klaus isn't that willing to bring me to Destiny."

"Why?"

"He thinks Destiny isn't a place for me."

Elena narrowed her eyes. "But you still sneak in."

Caroline laughed. "Because I like this place. Let's have fun."

The music was loud, the dance floor crowded. The customers at the bar were stacked three thick, and the bartenders were moving with a controlled, exuberant efficiency. They were all excellent at what they did; to survive a night at Destiny, they had to be.

Caroline grabbed Elena's hand and tugged her across the dance floor towards the tables, adding in a few moves as they made progress in that direction. Elena laughed, even more so when the couple beside them started applauding.

"Don't say I never took you dancing," Caroline quipped as they moved counter to the flow of traffic towards the tables.

Damon hadn't called or talked to her for two days.

She was very tempted to call him but she gave up in the end. If Damon really wanted their relationship to work, he had to learn to trust her.

Caroline had phoned her just before five this evening. "I'm serious! We haven't gone out dancing together in forever, and I am not running the risk that you will back out. Which is why I'm hanging up now, and I will be in your office in ten minutes."

She hung up without waiting for Elena to respond, and Elena knew her well enough not to be surprised.

Unlike Elena, dressed for work in nothing more interesting than a suit skirt and linen shirt, Caroline looked amazing. Her hair was pulled back into a big braided bun. She wore tight jeans and a sleeveless shirt that shows off her ample cleavage. All in all, she looked seriously hot, as confirmed by the interested looks of both men and women as they moved farther into the club.

She led the way around the dance floor toward the VIP room. Less crowded. A more easily accessible bar. A win-win as far as she was concerned.

"Where is Bonnie?" Elena asked.

Caroline cupped a hand to her ear and frowned. Elena motioned for her to hurry up and go inside the VIP room so that they could hear.

"I asked you where Bonnie was," Elena said as the door shut behind Caroline. The noise level was slightly more reasonable, but this area also had a dance floor, so it was still loud. Just not the kind of loud that qualified as a sonic incident.

"There she is," Caroline said as Bonnie joined them

"Great to see you, Bonnie," Elena said and then gave Bonnie a hug.

Bonnie smiled. "I need a drink. They are on Klaus, right?"

"I will get them," Caroline said. She pointed to the one free table in the room. "You two go sit."

As Bonnie rushed to stake their claim, Elena smiled at Caroline. "Thanks."

"You okay?"

Elena shrugged casually. "Yeah, I'm fine. Vodka martinis for both of us."

"Yes, madam."

She watched Caroline left and then sighed. She was trying to put on a happy face so that her friends would not worry about her.

"Okay." Bonnie opened her mouth as Elena slid into the seat opposite her. "What happened?"

"What?"

"Damon and you."

"Oh."

"You two have hardly talked in the last two days."

Elena shrugged. "I'm busy and so is he."

"I'm your friend, Elena. I can tell whether you are happy or upset. And I'm fairly certain you are upset in the last two days."

Elena lifted a shoulder. "I don't know. Although I have known Damon for a long time, sometimes I still don't understand him. I thought—I mean, we clicked at first, you know? We have been through a lot. And I felt so comfortable around him."

"Maybe that was the problem? Maybe you were seeing what you wanted to see, instead of what was really there?"

"I don't know," Elena said as Caroline returned with a tray carrying three martinis. "Can we stop talking about men tonight?"

"She is right. No men's talk tonight," Caroline agreed as she took a sip of her martinis.

Before Elena could take a sip of her martinis, Caroline leapt to her feet and grabbed her hand. "Come on. I love this song. Dance with me."

Elena didn't recognize the music, but she was willing to dance. She extended her other hand to Bonnie

"Oh no," Bonnie said. "You know I never dance. Besides," she added before Elena could protest, "I need to stay here and guard the table. But you two go on."

"You sure?"

"Go," Bonnie said, nodding towards the dance floor where Caroline was already moving to the music and motioning Elena to come over.

Elena obeyed. They danced for a while, moving with the music, following each other, just generally having a good time. But after six long songs Elena started to lose a little steam. She needed a break and a drink, and so she nodded her head towards the table, indicating that she was going to fight her way back through the throng.

She had barely taken a step, though, when Caroline pulled her back, her eyes wide.

"What is it?"

"Look." Caroline pointed towards the table, but slightly to the left of theirs. Elena followed her line of sight—and then gasped.

"Is that who I think…"

"Jesse Graham," Caroline confirmed, identifying one of the biggest stars in Hollywood at the moment. "I'm surprised to see him with Damon."

Normally, Elena would laugh. But right now, nothing seemed funny to her. Because Jesse Graham was gunning to play Damon in the movie that Reed and Marko wanted to make and that Damon wanted to block.

Elena was no longer even swaying to the music. Instead she was just standing on the dance floor watching as Jesse put his arm around Damon, and greeted him as if they were the best of friends while all around them, dancers pulled out their cell phones and snapped their Twitter and Instagram images.

Damon remained as still as a mountain, his expression like thunder.

"I don't get it," Caroline said. "Why is Damon so down on the movie? Does the script make him look like an ass?"

"He knows the family. And what with the murder and the suicide, he is protective of their privacy."

"That is it?"

Elena was certain that it was not, but she didn't know the rest of it. "Didn't Klaus tell you?"

"No, he didn't. I don't think he knows."

Elena was surprised. "But Klaus is Damon's best friend."

"You are his girlfriend."

Elena said nothing.

Caroline frowned.

"What?" Elena demanded, and her voice was harsher than she would like, because she was touchy about the subject.

"I just figured he would have told you the real story."

"We haven't really talked about it." And that was technically true. Elena thought about it. Damon had hardly talked about the movie. And yet never once had Damon told her why he punched out that screenwriter. Why he didn't want to see the movie come to life. And she had no clue what was so goddamn private within that family that the world would come crashing down if Hollywood looked through the lens.

And, most important, she didn't know why it mattered so much to Damon, who wasn't even in the same state when the murder-suicide occurred.

So, yeah. She was a little touchy on the subject. And all the more so now that even Caroline thought Damon's silence with her on the subject was more than a little odd.

Right now, however, that was not what Elena was focused on. Instead, she just wanted to get to Damon, but that was getting harder and harder, because the crowd had realized that Jesse was nearby and it was moving in, circling tight around the two of them. And though she kept trying to see Damon again, the crowd was just too deep.

"Dammit," Elena cursed. And then, when there was a gap in the crowd and she finally did get a glimpse, she repeated the curse with even more ferocity as Damon stood. And she seriously feared for Jesse's very pretty movie-star face. Because at that moment, Damon looked ready to explode.

"Caroline." Her voice was tight, urgent. She started to shove through the crowd towards Damon. Caroline followed her closely.

As soon as they reached the edge of the dance floor, Elena saw that Damon was standing now, and his fist was clenched. And she had a sudden premonition of the front page of Mystic Falls Daily showing him and her and Caroline and Jesse Graham all in a sprawl with fists and feet and teeth and fingernails.

It was not a pretty mental image. And one Elena very much wanted to avoid.

She grabbed Damon's arm, her fingers closing tight around him. "With me," she said. "Now."

For a moment, Elena thought Damon was actually going to argue. Then he surged forward, pulling her through the crowd with him until they reached the end of the bar. They rounded the corner for the hall that led to the restrooms, and the instant they were past the turn, Damon lashed out, slamming his fist against the wall and, fortunately, not injuring the hardwood panelling.

Elena was not sure if the same could be said for his hand, and she cried out in surprise and worry. "Damon! Are you okay?"

She started to reach for his hand, wanting to make sure he didn't break the skin, but instead, he shoved her back so that she was pressed against the wall and his arms were caging her.

The unexpected motion had knocked the wind out of her, and she sucked in a hard breath, and then looked up at his face. It was raw. Feral. She felt a bit like his prey. And though Elena knew that Damon was angry right now—that he was wild—she could not deny the excitement that was arcing between the two of them. That was filling me. Making her wet and hot and oh, so very ready.

And before she could even form a coherent thought, his mouth crushed hers, hot and hard and demanding.

Elena opened to him immediately, almost instinctually. Tremors of excitement coursed through her body, and all she could think was that she needed Damon. But even as she spread her legs in response to the silent demand of his thigh pressing against her, a small rational voice in her head was yelling for them to get out of there. It was reminding her of cameras and crowds and that this could be a very, very, very bad idea.

"Damon." His name was ripped from her mouth when Damon broke their kiss for breath. "The crowd."

The word seemed to bring him back to himself, and he took a single step away from her. He is breathing hard—so was Elena.

"The office." He grinded out the words. "Let's go."

It took a moment for the words to make sense, but once her mind started interpreting English again, she followed Damon to the stairs that headed up to the club manager's office. It was empty now, and he punched in the key code, and then drew her in. One entire wall was one-way glass and looked out over the main dance floor. Through it, coloured lights now burst in, filling the otherwise darkened office.

Right now, though, Elena was not thinking about the dance floor or the lights or anything other than Damon's hands on her body. His body pressed hard against hers as he slammed the door shut with his foot.

He grabbed her up, and she hooked her legs around his waist. She clung to his neck as his mouth found hers even as he stumbled backward, finally slamming them against that wall of glass.

Elena slid down his body until her feet found the ground. Her skirt didn't follow, and it was up around her waist, and somehow in the midst of all that, Damon's hand ended up between her thighs. "Did you mean it?" he asked as his fingers pushed aside the band of her underwear. "Did you mean what you said about using you when I want to beat the shit out of somebody?"

"Yes." The word was hard and full of meaning. Elena wanted this—him. All she could think of right now was his hand inside her—and she shifted her hips in silent, desperate invitation. "Oh, god, yes," she said again as he thrust deep into her. Two fingers, then three.

His mouth was over hers again, then on her neck, her collar, her breast. They were pressed up against the thick glass, and she wondered if they casted a shadow, but she didn't care. Right then, she was not even sure that she would care if the glass were fully transparent instead of mirrored from the perspective of the club. All she could think of was this. Pleasure. Ferocity. Passion.

"Damon."

"Here." The single syllable was harsh and short, but Elena didn't think she had ever heard a word so full of need.

Damon pulled her away from the window, turning her so that she was facing the desk that was behind them. It was large and the surface was mostly clear, just a few documents scattered about.

With one arm, Damon sent the papers flying, and then bent her over the desk so that her breasts were hard against its wooden surface. She was still dressed—blouse, bra—and yet she felt the pressure of the desktop against her breasts so intimately that her nipples tightened painfully and red hot threads of sensation shoot from her chest all the way to her cunt.

"I have to have you," he said. "Christ, Elena, I have to fuck you."

"Yes." It was all Elena could say. All she needed to say.

Her skirt was still up around her waist, and now he yanked her underwear down so that it was almost to her ankles. She heard his zipper and spread her legs, and then his cock was right there and he was thrusting inside her with no foreplay, no teasing, no effort to get her ready.

It was hot and fast and frenzied, and dammit, Elena loved this. This feeling of being needed. Of being used. Of being Damon's release valve. Not violence, not anger. But her.

He was holding her hips, pounding hard into here. And although she had never orgasmed like this, without any attention at all to her clit, right now she was almost there. The pressure of his cock inside her. The rhythm of his thrusts stroking her walls. And most of all the wild excitement of knowing what he was doing and why he was doing it.

Elena felt Damon's release coming. Heard his muffled groan as he tried to hold back. The tightening of his grip on her hips when it couldn't be stopped and his release cut through him. And she followed him over, exploding into a million tiny pieces even as he collapsed, exhausted and spent, over her back.

For a moment, they were simply silent. Then Damon gently got off her and used tissues to clean them both up. He slid her panties back up and tugged her skirt down into place. Then he turned her around and straightened her blouse.

Once Elena was put back together and well-tended to, Damon took care of his own clothes. Then he studied her face and said simply, "I needed you. Christ, Elena," he added with rising emotion, "I always need you."

"I know the feeling." She pulled herself up to sit on the desk, and he got on beside her. She leaned against him. They were facing the glass wall, and she looked out at the crowd and lights below them. "Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Damon didn't answer at first, and Elena told herself that she shouldn't push him. A moment passes. Then another. And it was becoming harder and harder for her not to say anything.

Finally, he spoke. "He came up to me like it is a done deal." His voice was low. Even. But Elena could hear the anger underlying it. "Like the movie is going forward and there is not a damn thing I can do to stop it."

"You will stop it," she said. "If it is that important you will find a way."

He nodded, but he didn't look convinced.

Elena hesitated, then made herself go on. "But, Damon, I still don't understand—would it really be that horrible if it was made? I get that it digs into the family's personal lives, but the papers have already covered the murder, right? And so did a lot of the news magazines and television news shows. So how much worse could a movie be?"

He turned to look at her. "Trust me. It would be worse."

She waited for him to continue—to explain—but he didn't. Instead, he just turned back toward the window and looked out at the club.

She didn't press him.

And she did trust him.

But still, the question lingered. And, yes, her heart ached a bit. Because although she didn't understand why, she was certain that he was keeping things from her Secrets. Big ones—big enough, at least, to eat him up inside.

She wanted to press, but she didn't.

Bonnie's words return to haunt her. _Maybe you were seeing what you wanted to see, instead of what was really there?_

Was that what she was doing with Damon?

Was she seeing trust because she wanted to see it? Because she craved his presence? His touch?

Was she fabricating depth to a relationship that wasn't there?

And if she was, how did she stop?

More important, how did she tell the difference?


	21. Chapter 21

Even though it was days before Elena had to see her parents, Bonnie's words had made her antsy. She couldn't stop herself from having doubts about her relationships with Damon. The truth was she was seeing trust because she wanted to see it. Because she craved Damon's presence and his touch. Did they really have a relationship built on passion, care and trust? Or what they had shared was only a sexual relationship?

So instead of heading straight to the lobby, Elena detoured to the tenth floor. She wanted to see Damon – had to see him. The construction crew and his secretary were there, but Damon was not. His secretary told her that he had an errand to run outside the building.

Without a coffee companion, she continued down to the lobby on her own. It was a swift descent, but Elena still had enough time to chastise herself for being edgy and out of sorts. After all, it was not as though anything has changed. She was happy when she was with Damon. She knew Damon was happy too.

The line at the coffee shop inside the building was long, but they also had an outdoor coffee cart that she could see through the glass front of the building, and despite it being a gorgeous day, there were only three people waiting to order. Since that seemed like as much of an invitation to enjoy the day as she was likely to get, she headed out. She ended up with an extra-large latte and a chocolate chip cookie that was about the size of a salad plate. She would either keel over from sugar shock or be so hyped up for the rest of the day that she could accomplish all her tasks without even blinking.

Elena was hoping for the latter. After all, if she was busy burning through her various work tasks, she would have no time to think about the impending torment of a dinner with her parents and she could stop thinking about her relationship with Damon.

The cookie was about the best thing ever, and she had to talk herself out of buying another one as she stood and crumpled her napkin. The only trash can was by the coffee cart, and as Elena headed in that direction, she was facing the loading area, a small section of road set off from the main traffic flow along the main road to allow for cars to pick up and drop off passengers at Gilbert Tower.

She was not really looking for anything in particular, but as she was turning to head back toward the building entrance, something familiar caught her eye. She shifted back around, and saw that it was Damon. He was standing by the passenger door of a black SUV.

Elena took a step towards him, but then he opened the door, and a tall, slender woman stepped out. She looked familiar and vibrant and lovely, and she put her hands on Damon's shoulders and brushed his lips with a kiss.

Her delicious cookie suddenly turned to acid in her stomach. Because she knew this woman. True, she had never formally met her. But she knew her name. She knew he had slept with her.

Rose Amber.

Elena stood frozen to the spot, as if her feet were anchored by the weight of her jealousy.

Damon handed her the keys and she circled the car, then got in on the driver's side and pulled away.

Damon started walking towards the building, and she pivoted back towards the coffee cart, then reached out and grabbed the edge of the condiment bar because she was now feeling even more unsteady.

Rose.

Rose?

Elena had seen her at the premiere of Stone and Steele, the documentary about Damon and his work on the Munich Art and Science Museum, but that was weeks ago. She hadn't met her then, though. She had only seen her from a distance, first approaching Damon.

After that, she had been gone. Elena had no idea who she was, and it hadn't really seemed relevant. At least not until her mother told her about the gossips.

Damon had told her that they had slept together, but that didn't mean they were ever a couple or that anything was still going on.

But if what he said was really true, then why hadn't he told her Rose was still in town? Why had she kissed him so intimately?

And why did it suddenly feel as if the world as she knew it was shifting beneath my feet?

"Elena?" His voice, as warm and gentle as a summer breeze, drifted towards her from a few feet behind her. She stayed put, motionless, then closed her eyes and drew in a breath when his hand closed over her shoulder. "Coffee break?" He brushed a kiss to the back of her ear. "Good idea."

Elena turned to face him, and then realized that she was still holding the coffee she had bought at least fifteen minutes ago. "I—no. I'm done with it." She licked her lips and tossed it into the trash, even though there was still half a latte left.

She started to head back towards the building, and Damon fell in step beside her. If he realized her mood was off, he didn't show it. And although she should be grateful, that little blip of reality had the opposite effect. It pissed her off. Because, dammit, Damon knew her. Hadn't he always been able to read her?

And if he couldn't read her now, didn't that mean that his head was full of another woman?

Oh my god, she was turning into Super Bitch.

Elena paused just before they got to the revolving door that was the entrance to Gilbert Tower. "I was looking for you earlier. We are having dinner tonight with John and the Mayor. Bonnie and Enzo, too."

"All right," Damon said. "What time?"

"Seven. Just down the street at Mystic Grill."

The conversation seemed strange and stilted, but Elena couldn't tell if that was because something was truly off, or because she was filtering it through her own little cloud of angst.

"Sounds good. Why don't you come down about six forty-five? We will walk over. Should be a nice night."

Elena nodded. And then, before she couldn't stop herself, she blurted out, "You weren't in your office earlier."

"No," he said. "I went out."

"So I gathered. Where did you go?"

"Nowhere special."

"With Rose." She tried to sound normal, but her voice was flat.

Damon looked at her, and his head tilted just slightly. Elena thought his eyes might have narrowed, but that might just be her imagination. "Yes," he said evenly. "With Rose."

They were blocking pedestrian traffic, and a tall man in a very expensive suit shot Elena an irritated glance. But she didn't care. Because now she was certain the conversation was stilted, and she didn't understand it and, dammit, it scared her. Because this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Not between Damon and her. Not ever.

She forced a casual tone. "I didn't realize she was still in town from the documentary."

"She came back."

"You never did tell me you two are still seeing each other."

He met her eyes. Hers, Elena was sure was needy. His were as cold as arctic ice. "No, I guess I didn't."

He might as well have slapped her. "You know what, Damon, screw it." Elena saw him took a step back as if in defence against a blow, but she was too far gone to care. "You want to hold on to your secrets, and then you just fucking do that."

She stormed off, feeling like an idiot, and not at all sure if Damon was the one who was off or if she was.

Back in her office, Elena tried to concentrate. Tried, but didn't succeed.

She knew that she was jealous, but dammit, she didn't care. She wanted him today—needed him. And he wasn't there. Because he was with another woman.

So, yeah, maybe it was stupid or bitchy or unfair, but Elena was not going to wallow. She had the right to be pissed off and moody about this.

Damn.

"Bad day?"

Elena spin around in her chair to find Bonnie standing at her doorway holding a vase full of yellow roses.

Elena grimaced. "Did I say that out loud?"

"Don't worry. I have heard way more colourful language on the floor."

"Sorry. And yeah, this isn't the best of days."

"Maybe these will help." Bonnie passed her the flowers. "They just came for you."

"Really?" She supposed she should have clued in; it was not like Bonnie wandered the halls with roses. But she guessed she assumed Bonnie was walking them to the coffee station to fill the vase with water. "Who are they from?"

But that was a question that Elena asked only for form. Of course she knew who sent them. And the heart that had been feeling so heavy fluttered a bit in her chest.

Just to be sure, Elena peeked at the card.

I'm just one floor away, but it feels like worlds apart.

I'm sorry.

D.

Elena tucked the card in her purse, and smiled at Bonnie. "You are right. They helped."

"Glad to hear it." Bonnie took a step back towards the reception area, and then paused. "If Damon shows up, should I send him straight back?"

"Yeah," I say. "You do that."

Elena was about to type out a quick sorry text, but before she even started typing, she got a call from Caroline.

"Hey, what's up?" Elena asked.

"That is what I want to know," Caroline said. "Do I need to come over there and bitch-slap your boyfriend?"

Either her best friend had completely lost it or—"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Rose Amber. Have you seen this shit? Hang on."

Caroline was rattling her words off so fast Elena could barely process them, and she had just opened her mouth to ask Caroline to please slow down when she sent a text with a website link.

"Did it come through? Click on it."

"Hang on." Elena didn't want to—she really didn't want to. Because whatever it was, it was not going to be good. But she needed to know, and so she clicked. And then, yes, she cursed.

"Oh, damn."

The site was one of the eight billion celebrity gossip sites. But this one was operated like social media. So someone could start a story, and then site members could add to it with comments or photos. This one started with an image of Damon, his head bent close to Rose's, his face full of so much affection that Elena really just wanted to throw up.

There was a headline, too. Starchitect Damon Salvatore: Hollywood's newest member of Club Bad Boy?

"Oh, god," Elena said.

"I'm so sorry," Caroline said. "This is terrible, isn't it?"

But Elena was too busy checking out the images and text that followed the headline to answer. There were five pictures. The first of her and Damon at the premiere of Stone and Steele. Beneath that was another image from last night where Damon led her out of the Destiny. The last three images were of Damon and Rose. The first was what Elena saw an hour ago—her kissing him in front of Gilbert Tower. The second was the two of them seated across a table from each other, apparently having lunch. And the final one showed the two of them on the deck of his boat. It was obviously taken with a long lens from the dock. They were facing each other, his hands were on both of her shoulders, and from the angle, it looked like he was about to pull her to him and catch her in one hell of a lip-lock.

And the most horrible thing? Elena recognized the green flag of the yacht that was moored right next to them. Because it arrived this morning as Damon and she were leaving for work. Which meant that this photograph was taken today. Today.

"This isn't—" Elena tried to form a sentence, but her brain was frozen. All of her was frozen. She was cold. So very, very cold. "It can't be—"

"I sure hope the hell not," Caroline said. "I mean, they are making shit up about the three of you."

But Elena didn't hear what Caroline was saying. They were just so much background noise. Because she had found what Caroline was talking about all on her own. The text under the headline that talked about how Damon was working for Gilbert International. About how he was new to Hollywood, and he was settling right in. Getting into fistfights. Having sex with lots of women. Seducing the CEO of Gilbert International. And Rose Amber whom Damon took back to his boat after an intimate lunch for an even more intimate dessert.

This couldn't be right.

Elena scrolled down and found images of Damon with other women, all taken over the course of the last ten years. There weren't many—it was not like he was some mega movie star and the paparazzi was glued to him—but whoever wrote this article did their homework, and for each gala Damon had attended, there was a different woman on his arm. And the commentary made clear that Damon pretty much fucked his way across the United States, and was continuing to do exactly that. With Rose. With her. And with God only knew who else.

"Don't completely freak until you talk to him," Caroline warned, which was a little ironic considering she had called Elena in full freak-out mode, and Elena told her as much. "I know, I know. And I'm sorry. It's just—well, I like Damon, but I love you, and I don't want you to get hurt. And I swear if he does hurt you, I will cut his balls off with a hacksaw."

Elena cringed. But she didn't disagree.

"You are going to talk to him, right?"

"Yeah," Elena said. She didn't say when, but she knew it wouldn't be soon. Right now, she was feeling just a little too raw.

"Okay, listen, I have a meeting right now. But you call if you need me."

Elena promised that she would, and then ended the call. She sat and stared at the computer screen and then—because that really wasn't helping her mood—reached over and turned off her entire goddamn computer.

Shit.

How the hell could a day spiral down so quickly?

Elena stared at the vase of flowers on her desk—lovely roses that should add some cheer to her day, but instead were only making her miserable. "Damn."

She picked up the vase, and before she could talk herself out of it, she dropped the whole thing—glass and flowers and water and all—right into her trash.

It was not as cathartic as she had hoped, but she did feel slightly better.

The truth was that she should just haul her rear downstairs and talk to Damon, but she felt too ripped up inside. She was afraid that she would start shouting at him. Or, worse, that she would burst into tears. She needed time to get herself together. She needed to not think about Damon or Rose or those stupid photos and just let it all settled.

And since the best way to do that was to lose herself in her work, Elena turned the computer back on, pulled up her phone list, and started returning calls.

That was what Elena was doing when Damon arrived, as silent as a cat. But it didn't matter. She knew he was there, and the band around her heart that had started to loosen tightened once again.

"I look forward to getting your proposal," Elena said into the phone, then hung up. She waited one beat, then another. Then she lifted her head to face him.

She didn't want it to, but the sight of him took her breath away.

He was not dressed any differently than he was earlier. Casual slacks and a button-down shirt, the top two buttons open to expose the indentation at the base of his neck. Nothing special about the outfit. Nothing formal about his posture. On the contrary, he was standing close to her desk.

But it was the expression on his face that had knocked her flat. Passion and penitence and desire so strong it almost pulled her out of her chair. She wanted to enfold herself in his arms and pressed her head against his chest. Because wasn't Damon the one person who had always been able to make her feel better? Who could soothe and reassure her?

Not today.

Today, Elena had no one.

Today, she steeled herself as she looked him in the eye. "This really isn't a good time."

Damon glanced down, and Elena cringed as she realized that he was looking right at the flowers in her trash. She started to rise—she wanted to explain—but she forced herself to stay seated. Right now, she was not the one who needed to apologize or explain. Damon was. And if this evidence of how frustrated and pissed she was didn't prompt him, then maybe nothing would.

When Damon lifted his head and looked at her again, his eyes were flat and unreadable, just like his expression. Only the tightness in his jaw—as if he was clenching his teeth—evidences his dark mood. And it was only because she knew him so well that she could see his rising temper. "I will let you get back to work." The words were flat and measured and completely cold.

"Damon…" His name was past her lips before she could call it back, and she sat there, slightly flummoxed, because she didn't know what she intended to say.

He had taken a step backward, but now he paused.

Elena cursed herself, because she was not ready to talk about this. So she just said, "Seven o'clock. Don't forget. I will see you at the restaurant."

Damon met her eyes and held her gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable. "Seven," he finally said. Then he turned and walked away.

And although Elena rose and watched him move towards the door, Damon never once looked back.

x x x

"Considering you are the man of the hour, you are awfully damn quiet, Damon." Richard Lockwood leaned back in his chair and pushed his dinner plate away before polishing off his third martini.

"I apologize. I have a lot on my mind." Damon didn't look at Elena. Not that she expected him to. They had been managing to not look at each other for the last ninety minutes, ever since they arrived separately at the restaurant.

They were at a round table, and Elena had taken the chair next to Bonnie. Enzo had to take a call from New York and therefore he was late. John, Bonnie and Elena arrived first, and when Damon came a few moments later, he had the choice of the seat next to Elena, or the seat next to John.

He chose to sit next to Elena. And although Elena had avoided his eyes all evening, she couldn't avoid the tension that filled the air between them, so thick that she was amazed that no one else was drawn into it, like a black hole that sucked in everything that drifted too close.

She tried her best to steer the conversation towards the resort in general. But Richard had heard it all before, and kept his focus laser-sharp on Damon.

"Bet you never knew you would be such a celebrity when you were sketching your way through your childhood." Richard grinned. "I saw your documentary."

Damon smiled politely. "I hope you found it interesting."

"Fascinating," Richard said. His eyes were green but Damon's were blue, and he looked so earnest. The man was managing a multi-billion dollar company and doing a damn fine job. Plus, he was also the mayor of Mystic Falls. He was definitely an intriguing person.

Elena knew it was very bad form to poke into the personal lives of your investors. At least it was if you wanted them to keep investing.

The general topic of bad boys, however, was very much on the table as Richard leaned closer to Damon. "I have to say, I have always thought the Mikaelson are the one who have one hell of a reputation for playing fast and loose. But you certainly did a number on that Marko guy. I got to know. What was that about?"

"Just having a bad day." Elena could almost see the tension pouring out of Damon, like a red haze staining the air.

"We have started thinking about retail on the resort," Elena said brightly to Richard. "We want to keep it very high-end, boutique oriented, but I thought you and I should sit down at some point and talk about you possibly opening a retail space."

"Happy to," Richard said. "It is the celebrity thing that gets me," he continued to Damon, undaunted. "Documentary. Feature film. I saw the pictures with you and Jesse Graham. Hell, you could star in the thing if you wanted. You have got the look."

"Richard," John said firmly. "I think that considering the fact that Marko still might file a civil action, we should not expect Mr Salvatore to talk about this."

Elena's stomach twisted. Now that the criminal case had been resolved, she thought the courtroom drama was over. And she couldn't help but wonder if John knew something, or if he was just trying to shut Richard up.

She hoped it was the latter. And, frankly, she applauded the effort.

"Hey, we can drop it. I was just curious about the movie. Of course, if you do want to star in it, probably best not to beat the shit out of the producer. So what was that about? You just didn't like the script? When is it hitting theatres, anyway?"

Beside Elena, Damon's posture stiffened. His left hand was in his lap, and now he moved it to her knee. He had barely brushed her skin when he seemed to realize what he was doing, and he yanked it away as if her body was on fire.

She didn't even hesitate. She reached for him and clutched his hand with hers. Because no matter what else might be between them, Elena wouldn't have him be alone right now.

"I'm afraid you have been misinformed," Damon said, his voice stiff but polite. His hand was clenched so tight with Elena's that she had to actually grit her teeth. "There is not going to be a movie."

"Uh-huh." Richard had the look of a dog with a bone, and Elena was certain that he was going to pursue this line.

John, thank goodness, came to the rescue, asking Richard about an arson claim in one of his Chicago-based stores. Apparently that arose from a huge drama between the store manager and a street gang, and Richard was interested enough in the soap opera aspects to stay on point.

As the conversation finally shifted away from Damon, he eased up on her hand. And when the conversation shifted again, and Bonnie mentioned about Caroline called her, Damon released Elena's hand entirely.

She deflated, as if that simple loss of touch was more profound than the distance that had been growing between them all afternoon.

She forced herself not to show it, though. Instead, she focused on Bonnie. "Oh, good. I'm glad she called. I meant to tell you tonight. I called Caroline this morning. We are all set for Monday evening."

"Hot date?" Richard asked.

"Art exhibition for Mystic Falls High School," Elena said. "We had to postpone the last one."

Bonnie smiled. "I'm glad we have managed to get this one sorted out. I will meet you in the school hall," she said. "Around six? And then maybe Enzo and Damon can join us after for a drink?" Bonnie said the last with such a question in her voice that Elena was absolutely positive she had noticed the rift between Damon and her.

Elena was about to say that it might not be the best night for socializing, when Damon responded. "I think that's a great idea." He looked at her as he spoke, his eyes soft with apology. And although she could not say for certain that they would be fine come Monday, she did know that she was done being completely mad at him. It was time to talk about this.

And so Elena nodded. "Yes," she said. "It is a great idea."

They talked about the art exhibition at the Mystic Falls High School. The conversation meanders from there to Richard's career as the mayor and then back full circle to Damon's assault.

This time around, however, Richard was quite as pushy. "I heard you were serving your community service at the Mystic Falls' Foundation."

"I start Sunday," Damon said. "There is a fund-raiser that I will be working, and I'm looking forward to it. Not something most of us criminal types say about our community service obligations, but I'm glad to have the chance to do some charity work. And it is a good cause," he added, looking at John. "I should be volunteering for a place like that even without the grey cloud of incarceration hanging over my head."

"You should," John said. "Mystic Falls' Foundation has helped a lot of children and families in need."

The waiter came with a dessert menu, and the meal finished easily, with the conversation never drifting back to anything too touchy. Elena skipped dessert and opted only for coffee. And when they all finally headed back outside, Damon paused at the restaurant's valet stand and handed the college-aged attendant his ticket.

"Did you drive here, Damon? Where are you heading?" John asked

He pointed generally to the left. "Somewhere," he said. "Care for a nightcap?"

"I would," John said before looking at Elena. "I can drop you back at your house, Elena."

"She is with me." Damon turned his attention from John to Elena. "We have some things to discuss. About the resort," he added, though the addendum was clearly a lie.

John nodded and both Enzo and Bonnie said their goodbyes before walking away.

Elena turned to Damon. "I'm with you?"

"I damn sure hope so," he said. "Because having you not be with me is brutal."

The valet arrived, then parked the Camaro in front of them and got out, holding the door open for Damon.

Damon stepped to the passenger side and did the same for her. "Please, Elena. We need to talk. More than that, I think I need to apologize."

Elena got in the car. Honestly, there was never any doubt.

And although she didn't know what exactly they were going to say to each other, she did know that there were things that must be said.

x x x

Traffic was light, and they managed to get from town to Damon's boat in less than half an hour. During the entire drive, Damon said nothing, and they both just sat back, lost in their own thoughts.

When they arrived at the marina, Damon manoeuvred to his parking slot in front of his boat, killed the engine, and turned to Elena. "I miss you. And I'm sorry."

Elena swallowed, and then blinked back tears. "I need to hear you say it. Are you sleeping with her?"

"No." The word was fast and harsh. "God, no. I told you. Once, and that was a long time ago. She is a friend, Elena. She is only a friend."

She nodded, and then opened her door. "Come on."

Damon still looked a bit wary, but he followed her out of the car and then onto the boat.

As soon as they were on deck, Elena went to him. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek against his chest. His arms surrounded her, and she breathed deep, feeling content for the first time in hours. They stayed like that, feeling the boat swayed beneath their feet, until she finally pulled away, then went to sit on one of the lounge chairs.

"Is that all that's bothering you?" Damon asked. "Rose?"

Elena shook her head, trying to articulate what she hadn't even really worked out in her own head. "I was pissed," she admitted. "Because when I met you in front of the office, it was clear you were keeping secrets. And—no," she said as Damon started to speak. "Let me get this out. And I didn't like the way I felt when she kissed you. I—I was jealous." Elena licked her lips. "And then I saw the other pictures."

His brow furrowed. "What other pictures?"

"On social media. You on the boat with Rose today. And you with other women you have dated over the last few years. Usually at parties and stuff."

"I haven't seen them."

"No? Well, they pissed me off. And I know that it's stupid, and I know that we weren't together then. And I know that you told me they didn't mean anything to you—"

"I told you that because I meant it."

"I know. You just fucked them. Except for Rose, you didn't care about them. Not like that. I get it. I really, really do." Elena shrugged. "But I'm still jealous. Especially when I think about, you know, the other stuff."

"Other stuff?"

Elena could feel her cheeks turning pink, which pissed her off because she didn't want to be embarrassed or uncomfortable. She wanted to keep a tight grip on this conversation, and she was afraid that she was doing a piss-poor job of that. "You like control, Damon. And we have done stuff. In bed, I mean. And I like it—I do. I like it a lot." As she spoke, she was rubbing hers wrists, trying to calm herself. "And I can't help thinking of all the other women…"

She cut herself off because she was saying too much. And honestly, she didn't intend to say any of this. Hell, she hadn't even fully processed any of this until she started talking. All she knew was Rose. Jealous. Other women. Jealous.

Apparently she had unplumbed jealous depths. Who knew?

Damon had been sitting beside her on the lounger, but now he moved to kneel in front of her. He rested his hands on her knees, and the contact was warm and comforting. "I have slept with a lot of women but my heart belongs to you." His smile was a little crooked. "You have stolen my heart the moment I laid eyes on you."

He leaned forward, and then kissed her softly. "I love you, Elena," he said as he pulled her to him. "And I assure you, you are the only woman I have given my heart to."

Elena shook her head. "I don't like this part of me. The jealous part. It is shrewish and icky and all sorts of things I don't like. But I don't want to lose you. And I see things like that. Pictures. Or you keeping secrets. And I just get scared and twitchy, and I'm sorry." She took a deep breath, because those words spilled out of her fast and furious.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was going out with Rose today."

"No, no. I'm the one who is sorry. Really. I was just being bitchy. And I'm sorry."

"Oh, baby." Damon stroke her cheek. "Come with me."

He took her hand and led her below deck to the small galley. Elena sat at the table, and he came to join her, bringing a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a box of chocolate cookies. He took one, then held out the box to her. She didn't really need it, but she took it anyway, then took a tiny bite as Damon leaned back in his chair and started to speak.

"I didn't know Rose had come back to town," he said. "She went home after the screening, and I just assumed she was still in Los Angeles." He paused to wash his cookie down with wine. "She called before lunch. Said she was in town and needed to talk. Her mother died about a month ago."

"Oh." Now Elena felt even more like a bitch. "I'm sorry."

"It has been…hard on her." Damon sighed and pressed his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. "I told you she was a friend, and that is true. But it is not just Rose I'm close to, it is the whole family. Especially Trevor."

"Trevor?"

"Julian owns the gym and hooks me up for the fight club. Trevor is one of the trainers in the gym but I have known him since high school." He exhaled slowly. "Trevor is Rose's youngest brother."

"Oh."

"I have known their family since high school." Damon took a deep breath, then drained the last of his wine. He ran his fingertip over the rim idly as he spoke, and Elena didn't think he was even aware that he was doing it. "You asked why I don't want the movie made. Well, Rose is a big part of the reason."

"Rose?" Elena didn't understand what this woman had to do with a movie about a house Damon built in Santa Fe.

Santa Fe.

"It is her house? She is a Fletcher?" The Santa Fe house—the one that pretty much launched Damon's career—was commissioned by Arvin Fletcher.

Damon nodded. "He is her dad."

"Oh." Arvin Fletcher was one of the biggest land developers in the country. He started out ranching in New Mexico and was smart about his investments. He was not worth as much as the Gilbert family, but Elena bet it was close. And when he hired a then relatively unknown architect to build him a residence just outside of Santa Fe proper, he put Damon on the map. Afterward, the house grew in notoriety. Because one of Fletcher's three daughters murdered her twin and then killed herself. Rose, Elena realized, was the surviving sister.

Wow.

She stood and started to pace, trying to get her head around this. "So you don't want the movie to happen because you are close to this family. Fletcher gave you a huge break and you want to protect them?"

"That is part of it. But only a small part. Rose has PTSD because of what had happened. Now she is a rising star in Hollywood. She doesn't want anyone to know about her background."

"Oh." Elena was not entirely sure what to say. "Is that why she has changed her name?"

"Yes. Her real name is Rosemary Fletcher. She used her mother's maiden name Amber." He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Everyone thinks that she wants a part of the movie but they are wrong. She is worried about the press getting a peek at all the family skeletons. And they will, you know. If they make this movie, the family will become an open book. Even if the screenwriter doesn't poke and prod, the media will. And I don't want it to affect Rose's reputation. I know how bad it can get. They will keep digging and eventually they will find out Amelia had mental illness."

"She was the one who killed herself and her twin?"

He exhaled, then nodded, but it was clear that talking about this upset him. "Yes. She shot Carolyn. Rose is their older sister."

"The script suggests Amelia went crazy because of you," Elena said gently. She hadn't actually read the script, but she heard that from her mother about it.

His expression darkened. "She was infatuated, yes. But I wouldn't want to guess as to why she did anything."

Elena just nodded, realizing that she had struck a nerve.

"The bottom line is that I don't want Rose and Trevor affected by this drama again. They have suffered enough."

"I understand."

There was a brief pause. After a moment, Damon looked straight at her. "Elena, I need to tell—never mind."

Elena moved to him and took his hand. "What?"

"I just need to fix this—and I don't know how."

"Fix it? You mean, to stop the movie?"

There was a long pause before he nodded.

"Have you talked to a lawyer?" Elena suggested. "Alaric. Talk to Alaric."

He drew a deep breath. "I did. But Alaric said we can't really stop a company from producing a movie."

"Oh."

"Now you know why I'm so against the movie and why I beat up Marko. I want Reed and Marko to keep their nosy, voyeuristic ass away from the people I care about." He reached for her hand. "Can you understand that?"

"Yeah." Elena squeezed his fingers. "I do. And I really am sorry I was such a bitch earlier."

Damon chuckled. "You weren't."

"Oh, I totally was."

He moved his hand to her cheek and she leaned against it, soaking in his warmth. She looked up at his face, and his expression was fierce. "No," he said. The word was firm.

Damon sucked in air, then ran his fingers through his hair before pushing out of his chair and walking across the open space to a window that overlooked the open sea. He looked out at the darkness, and Elena could see the tension in his shoulders. She wanted to go to him, to hold him and help him ease his worry about his friends. But she forced herself to stay seated. To wait until he had said everything there was to say.

"I don't want to keep secrets from you." Damon was still facing the window, but now he turned. "I don't. But at the same time, things will come out when they come out. Does that make sense? Do you understand?"

"You know I do," Elena said. "I said so when you told me that Pastor Young is your biological father. I don't have a right to your secrets. And it is wrong of me to get bitchy and make it worse for you."

She drew a breath for courage. "Honestly, I'm not really sure how much of today was even about you or Rose or any of those other women. I was in a bad mood, and on any other day I might have actually handled the whole thing like a sane person."

Immediately, his eyes sharpened. "Why? What happened?"

"Nothing specific," she lied. "Just a bad day."

Damon was watching her face, his expression knowing. "Now who is the one keeping secrets?"

"Me," Elena admitted. "But it can wait." She reached out and took his hand. "Truly."

His brow furrowed as he moved closer to her. He was right there in front of her, and Elena could feel the power and concern radiating off him, and all of it was directed at her. "Don't ever think that."

She blinked, confused. "Think what?"

"That you need to pull your punches with me."

"Pull my—what?"

"Don't think you have to coddle me if I have had a bad day."

"I'm not," Elena said, then realized it was a lie the second the words spilled out. "Okay, maybe I am, but what is wrong with that? You want to take care of Rose and Trevor, right? Well, I want to take care of you."

"Sweet," he said. "But it doesn't work like that." He sat down again and tugged her into his lap. "You tell me what is on your mind so that I can help you, too."

He pulled her closer and Elena curled up against him, feeling warm and safe.

"I don't know where to start," she admitted.

"The beginning is usually a good place. Or you could tell me what happened today."

"I'm just anxious about having dinner with my parents." Elena drew a breath, relieved at how easy that was.

"Why?"

 _Because I'm planning to tell them I want to be with you_ , Elena thought. _And I know they won't be pleased about it._

"Things were sort of crazy in the past few weeks," she said. "I'm kind of confused."

Damon narrowed his eyes. "Confused?"

Elena lifted a shoulder. "The resort, Wes pulling out of the project, and you came on board…Then Dad fired you from the project…All of these are crazy, don't you think so?"

"Right."

She sighed. "And I'm not going to lie about this, Damon. You and I – we are messy, really messy."

There was another brief pause.

"You are right," Damon said eventually. "We are messy and complicated. And you have forgotten something."

He pushed away from Elena, and Elena couldn't read his expression. She didn't know what was going through his mind.

"What?" she asked, and he responded with a soft laugh.

"We are bad for each other." Damon closed the distance between them, and Elena could feel the power and heat—the rage and compassion—rolling off him. "Really bad for each other. But I don't care because right now I only want to kiss you."


	22. Chapter 22

"Good morning, sunshine."

Elena opened her eyes to the warm comfort of Damon's voice washing over her, followed by the brush of his lips against her temple.

"Good morning yourself." Elena smiled and stretched. She felt as bright and shiny as the Mystic Falls sun seeping in through the window. "What are you going to do today?"

"No idea yet," Damon said. "But the morning is young." He moved towards the bathroom and Elena slid out of bed to follow him. "Maybe I will give Klaus or Alaric a call later."

"Are you going to the Destiny?" Elena asked as she leaned into the shower to turn on the spray. "You know, you didn't really tell me why you hate Marko's gut." She recalled the threats Marko had voiced to her ten years ago but Damon had never told her the reasons.

The thought didn't make her happy.

She moved her towel closer to the shower and then reached in to check the water temperature. Damon eyed her, his head slanted to one side. "Are you going in to the office today?" he finally asked. "You are meeting your parents tonight."

"Well, yes." She shrugged. "But that's not until later. I can leave a bit early, but I have a ton to catch up on."

"Sure."

Damon didn't say anything else, but Elena knew what he was thinking. He was still not telling her the feud between Marko and him.

She slid towards him and enfolded herself in his arms. They were both naked, and though this moment wasn't sexual, Elena couldn't help but notice the hard press of his body against hers. Damon felt safe and solid and perfect, and she tilted her head back so that she could look at his face.

"Tell me about Marko," she said again. "Tell me everything, Damon."

Damon was silent for a moment, just holding her. Then he kissed the top of her head. "I don't like keeping many secrets from you."

Elena took his hand as she stepped back, then smiled, wanting to lighten the moment. "I know you don't. We will talk about it afterwards because right now I want to enjoy the feel of you in the shower."

Damon didn't protest, and soon the water was sluicing over their bodies, and as she stood in the spray wrapped in his arms, Elena couldn't help but think how perfect this felt "I like this," she told him, though that was about as much of an understatement as an understatement could be. "Intimacy. It feels good. It feels right."

"That's because it is."

"Tell me again." Her voice was soft, but it held a plea, and although Elena did not tell him, Damon understood exactly what she needed to hear.

"I love you," he said, and she held him close and sighed with contentment.

"I had a thought," Damon said when they were in the Camaro and heading to the office after a late morning. And not a late morning in bed. No, Damon bought her some sweats and a T-shirt from the gift store, and then they had walked to the Mystic Falls mall, where he had bought her a fabulous new outfit to replace the dress he had so deliciously destroyed.

"A sexy thought?" Elena teased.

He chuckled. "I have those every moment I'm with you, so there is really no need to remark on them. No, I'm thinking maybe I should go with you tonight."

Elena shifted in the seat, turning serious. "Tonight? You mean dinner with my parents?"

"Maybe it is time," he said gently.

"It is time?"

"Don't you want to let your parents know we are seeing each other? I don't want them to think I'm only interested in sleeping with you," he continued softly. "I want them to know I want a future with you."

She kept her lips pressed together. Yes, she understood that. She wanted a future with Damon too. But could she? Her parents still believed the Salvatore was behind the blackmail. Her father had allowed Damon back into the project because of what Damon could do. However, she wasn't certain her father would be thrilled with the thought of her spending the rest of her life with Damon.

"I get that, Damon. I do." She licked her lips. "Things aren't straightforward when they come to my parents." She drew in a breath. "Please tell me you understand that. Because I need you not to be mad at me."

"Oh, baby." Damon reached over and took her hand. "I'm not mad. Not at you, anyway. As for your father—well, that is a different story altogether."

"You don't like him, do you?"

"No," he said firmly. "I don't."

Elena grimaced.

"But I'm willing to accept him because he is your father."

She squeezed his hand tight. "Thank you."

They drove in silent for a moment before Damon spoke again.

"There were problems at Destiny ten years ago," he said.

"Marko," she said and then shivered. "What did he do?"

"Something to do with the girls working at the Destiny." He paused. "Some used to be prostitutes—don't worry, we don't run that shit. And Destiny is a legit operation, although we did use the facility to launder money."

Elena lifted a brow. "In that case, I have to question your definition of legit."

"Point taken. At any rate, that has stopped. Klaus and I want to go completely clean. So the money laundering operation has moved."

"To where?"

"Somewhere," he said. "But trust me, the Destiny is clean now."

"I believe you. And I'm glad." Elena would still worry about Klaus, but there was no denying that her primary concern was Damon.

"Anyway, none of the girls turn tricks anymore, and part of their compensation is tuition if they want to go back to school. That has a tendency to piss off their former pimps," Damon continued. "We have bouncers and security staff, but sometimes it is easier to deal with a problem yourself. We had a little crisis the other day, too."

She just shook her head, still trying to process it all.

"What?" he said, reaching for her. "What are you thinking?"

"What am I thinking?" She leaned back against her seat. "I'm thinking that I'm worried about you. And I'm thinking that not many men could plant the seeds of an empire at such a young age. And not many would break that empire down in order to make sure that somebody else is safe." She smiled. "You are an amazing man, Damon Salvatore."

Damon took his eyes off the road for just a second to look at Elena. "There is another reason that I'm breaking that empire down."

"What is it?"

"A beautiful woman," he said, with so much heat in his eyes Elena thought it might burn right through me.

"Really? Tell me about her."

"She is exceptional, and she makes me want to be a better man." He smiled. "I once said that I was bad for her. She makes me want to change that. She makes me want a future. She makes me want," he whispered.

Elena swallowed hard. "Want what?"

"Everything," he said as he pulled the car to a stop in the parking lot of Gilbert Tower and turned to look at her. "From the first moment I saw you at Tyler's house, I knew that there was no other woman for me. Not before, and not ever again. You are the light that fills my days and illuminates my nights." He edged across the seat toward her and tilted her chin up with his finger, forcing her to look at him. "You are, by far, the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. You are the rhythm of my heart."

His lips caressed hers softly and gently. "I love you, Elena."

"I love you too."

x x x

The house was picture-perfect.

The lawn was manicured. The trees were just tall enough.

The cars were tasteful and expensive, but not too showy.

The pool guy came every Thursday. The cleaning lady came every Tuesday.

Miranda volunteered at the library. Grayson was enjoying early retirement after his heart attack and he would only attend some important meetings at Gilbert International.

All in all, they were a happy couple with a Norman Rockwell home on one of the prettiest streets near Mystic Falls.

But Elena didn't feel comfortable. It took a lot of courage to have dinner with her parents with Damon sitting beside her.

"She is doing an amazing job," Damon said, directing his words at both her parents.

He had been the perfect boyfriend so far. Staying by her side, squeezing her hand in support when her parents got weird. And, thank god, not saying anything that even hinted about Pastor Young or Grayson's previous campaign.

Damon started to go into more detail about the resort—about the quality of her work and the excellence of her ideas.

Miranda's eyes glazed over, but from the far end of the table, Grayson said, "That is what I'm talking about."

Elena turned toward him, not sure if he was talking to her or Damon.

"Talking about what?"

"What Damon was just saying to your mother," he said "About your job, and the extra time and work to make sure this resort is a success." He met Elena's eyes. "I'm proud of you, sweetheart."

Elena smiled. "Thanks."

"I think I'm going to open another bottle of wine," Miranda said as she pushed away from the table and headed for the kitchen. "Come with me, Elena?"

Elena followed Miranda through the butler's pantry, then into the kitchen. Right between the kitchen and the living area was an archway with an iron gate instead of a door. She follow her mother past the gate, then down the stairs to a small wine cellar with just enough room for the two of them and the hundred or so bottles of wine stacked neatly in the sturdy wooden racks.

Elena started to pull out a bottle, wanting something bold and red if she was going to be staying for any length of time. But before she had a chance to really start looking, Miranda spoke. "Do you want to tell me?" she asked and Elena jolted upright. "Do you want to talk about it, sweetheart?"

Elena shook her head. "No."

There was a brief silence. "Do you love him?" Miranda asked.

Elena almost lied, but she couldn't do that to Damon. She couldn't lie about the way she felt about him. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I love him."

Miranda glanced at her sideways and Elena expected her mother to launch into some sort of maternal pep talk. Instead she said, "I know the feeling. He is exciting and bold and he makes you feel like anything is possible so long as you are with him."

Elena blinked. Damon was the rush she needed in her life, that extra something that made her felt alive. And, she knew now, she was the same for him "You know the feeling? Do you feel that way with Daddy?"

"I love your father very much, but it is tamer," Miranda said. "It is more of a partnership. And there is nothing wrong with that, Elena. But if you can find the passion and the partnership—" She cut herself off with a wavering smile. "These are not the kinds of things mothers are supposed to talk about. But I want you to have everything good in the world."

"So why didn't you marry him? I mean, the man who makes you feel alive."

"He didn't want me. Or, rather, he wouldn't have me."

"Why not?"

"He was involved in some things that skirted the law. He said that was no life for me."

"Did you agree?" Elena asked softly.

"I never let myself think about it," Miranda said, though Elena didn't believe her. "He thought he was saving me. That he was making some grand sacrifice to protect me. But really he was just hurting us both. And I think he regretted walking away."

Elena felt hollow inside. "How do you know?"

"Things he said when I saw him years later." Miranda waved the words away. "It doesn't matter. I will never know for certain. We all have our lives and families now."

Who was the man her mother loved? Elena wondered.

He was involved in some things that skirted the law. He said that was no life for me.

It couldn't be Giuseppe, could it? Because Giuseppe was in love with Lillian.

Then it struck her. Mikael Mikaelson.

Although Elena loved her dad desperately, she couldn't help but want to weep for her mother and Mikael Mikaelson, and the love they never truly got to share.

"If you don't mind my asking, how does Damon describe your, uh, relationship?" Miranda asked. "Have you talked about marriage?"

"I haven't actually asked him that question. Not in so many words. Look, Mom, I know you mean well…"

Miranda frowned. "I was under the impression that he is serious about my daughter. If he thinks I'm going to stand by while he shacks up indefinitely with you, he can think again."

"We aren't planning to shack up indefinitely," Elena said.

"Had he asked you to marry him?"

"No."

"Is he planning to marry you?"

"Look, Mum, this conversation is getting a bit personal…"

"Is he planning to marry you?" Miranda repeated, her expression was serious.

"I…I don't know."

"Do you want to marry him? Miranda asked. "Is that what you want?"

"I don't know what I want." Elena's voice was oddly weak. "I don't even want to think about it sometimes."

Miranda reached out to touch her shoulder. "Darling, you have to be crystal clear on this. A relationship is more than just having a good time and someone to have a meal with. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Elena drew in a breath and nodded.

Grayson called down, cheerful and loud and asking what was taking them so long.

It felt as though he had broken a spell. Elena raced up the stairs to her father. "Sorry. Distracted. Sorry." She followed him back to the dining room, needing to see Damon, but Damon wasn't there.

"I think he went to the restroom," Grayson said when she asked. "Coffee?"

"I will get it," she said.

She left Grayson and hurried to the kitchen. She went through the motions of making a pot of coffee while she dealt with the floodtide of restless thoughts that cluttered her brain after her conversation with her mother. By the time the water boiled, she had managed to regain some perspective.

Get a grip, she told herself as she poured the coffee into a cup. What she had said to her mother was true. Damon had not even hinted at marriage. He seemed quite satisfied with the prospect of having an affair with her, but that appeared to be his only goal.

Memories of their lovemaking ignited hot little sparklers of pleasure deep inside her. But there was something else burning down there, too, a long fuse that promised a painful explosion sometime in the future when this very adult relationship blew up in her face.

Don't look too far ahead. Just take it one day at a time. That's all you can do for now. That's all you dare to do now.

"Do you need help with the coffee?" Damon appeared at the doorway.

She forced a smile that she was certain it looked lame. "Why don't you take the tray out?"

"Sure." He walked towards her and took the tray from the kitchen counter. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"What did you say to your mum?"

Elena hesitated and then gave a tiny shrug. "Nothing in particular."

Stalling, he thought. Why? What the hell was going on here?

"Is she worried that I might break your heart?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, shoot and damn."

Definitely getting more complicated by the minute, Damon thought.

"Want to talk about them now?" he asked.

"No. I think we should finish the coffee and then go home."

"Sure."

x x x

Damon stared at Pastor Young, trying to convince himself that the man was only an apparition. Some sort of horrible revenant. Not actually his father.

Not here.

Not today.

"Boy, I have been looking for you."

Damon didn't move. He didn't say a word. Instead he just stood there with Elena behind him.

It took every ounce of Damon's willpower to keep his feet planted and his hands at his sides. Because right then he was certain that very little in this world would feel better than wringing Pastor's neck.

When he was certain that he could move without launching himself at his father, he stepped sideways and then back so that he could slide an arm around Elena's waist and pull her to him. It would look, he knew, as if he was comforting her. But that was only an illusion. He needed her in his arms right now. Needed to hold tight and let the feel of her steady him. Because he had been pulled tight as a wire all day, and he was dangerously close to snapping.

He focused on his father's face, his gaze unflinching. "You want to tell me how the hell you got on my boat?"

"Not hard," Pastor said. 'You mother told me you have a houseboat."

"I'm not going to repeat myself. Get the hell off my boat, Pastor."

"We need to talk," Pastor said.

"You need to leave."

"You are my son. We need to talk."

"Your son? Is that what I am today? I have never really been able to keep that straight."

"I did what I had to do so that you could have a good life. Miss Gilbert," Pastor said, turning his attention to Elena without warning, "you should go inside. Damon and I have a few things to discuss."

"I'm not going anywhere." She spoke with such bold finality that Damon had to bite back a grin. He was grateful that Elena was willing to stand by his side.

Pastor looked at her. "You are right. You should stay as well because what I'm going to say involves you, Miss Gilbert."

The words, so out of left field, struck Damon like a blow.

"What the hell are you talking about?" It was Elena who asked the question. Damon was still reeling from the absurdity. "What have you got to say that involves me?"

"As far as I can see, I have to take a hand to straighten this mess."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Damon asked. "What mess?"

Pastor's eyes didn't leave Elena. "First things first. You serious about Damon or are you just having' yourself some fun?"

Elena blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't play games with me, young woman. You know what I'm talking about here. If you are fixing to break Damon's heart, I want to find out now."

Damon's jaw tightened. "You need to leave," he said coldly. "We are going inside. You are not invited."

"I'm trying to look out for you."

"Is that what you're doing?"

"Dammit, son—"

"Son? Are you sure about that? Because from where I was standing I was never your son. I was some obligation tucked off in a corner somewhere. The little boy no one was supposed to know about."

He heard the fury in his voice—the decades' old hurt—and he wished he'd said nothing. The last thing he wanted was to reveal himself to this man.

"I was only looking out for you and your mother," Pastor said softly.

But those words were empty excuses, and the look of disdain that Damon shot at his father said as much.

"I thought it was the best for your mother and you."

"Yeah. You are a real saint."

"Damon…"

"What are you doing here? What do you want?"

"I came here to talk about you and Elena."

"I can take care of my own affair, thanks." Damon pulled Elena closer. "And now it really is time for you to go. Trust me when I say you have worn out your welcome."

"Damon, please. I'm your father."

"I suggest you don't say that again."

"Why don't we hear what he has to say?" Elena said.

Damon turned to face her. "Elena."

Elena looked at Pastor. "Why do you think I'm going to break Damon's heart?"

Pastor gave a muffled snort. "You have got him in the palm of your hand and you know it. Question is, what are you going to do about it?"

Elena stared at him, riveted by the topic if not his tone. "I don't understand."

Damon was clearly irritated. "What game are you playing, Pastor?"

"No games. I'm your father. I'm concerned." Pastor drew a breath, then shoved his hands in his coat pockets, and for a moment he just looked tired, and a lot older than his sixty-plus years. "I do care about you, Damon. I'm your father, after all."

"That is just a word," Damon said. "And right now it feels pretty damn hollow."

"You may not believe me, Damon but I'm not lying," Pastor sighed. "Look, Miss Gilbert, you know damn well you have got Damon's full, undivided attention and that means things are dead serious. At least they are for him."

He paused for emphasis, his voice turning insistent as he reached the real issue: "Don't go playing around with his heart, girl. Either take all of it or leave it alone. Don't go taking little bits and pieces, when it suits you—and if it suits you. I don't think it's in you to be mean or cruel, but sometimes, if a woman doesn't know how a man feels, that could happen."

There was a moment of silence before Elena spoke.

"For your information, Mr Young, I do care about Damon," she said.

"But you are a Gilbert."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Damon demanded.

"Have you forgotten that she had walked away from you ten years ago?" Pastor levelled a finger at her. "You had just decided to play with him a little. You were having yourself some fun at that time, weren't you? You were not serious about him."

Elena wanted to protest but nothing came out. She couldn't tell Pastor about the blackmail, couldn't she?

"Your father pulled out of his campaign not long after you left Damon. Am I correct?" Pastor added in the face of Elena's continued silence. "I have to say I was a little surprised at how quickly Grayson threw in the towel. I thought he stay in the race and fight. Something bad must have happened, right?"

Damon's mouth pulled into a frown. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"One I would like an answer to."

There was a short, hard silence.

Pastor searched her face. "I have the impression that your father believed that Giuseppe, Mikael and I had something to do with him quitting the campaign."

Elena's mouth opened again but no words emerged.

"What are you talking about?" Damon asked. "What did you and Dad do to Elena's father?"

"Nothing."

Elena stared at Pastor.

"Nothing?" Damon repeated carefully.

"Yes. Nothing." Pastor swept out a hand. "We had nothing to do with why Grayson pulled out of his campaign."

Elena did not move for a long time. Then she looked at Pastor. "If it weren't you guys, who would it be?"

"Good question," Pastor said.

x x x

Elena watched Damon as he watched his father disappeared into the night.

Her whole body ached, and she realized that she hadn't relaxed since they came back from her parents' house. In addition, a cold feeling closed in on her. If Pastor was telling the truth, then who was behind the blackmail? Someone obviously knew about her father's scam.

Elena took a deep breath. She didn't want this in her head right now. She just wanted Damon, but his back was still to her, his eyes on the now-empty dock.

"Damon?" Elena said his name tentatively.

Damon turned and although the anger on his face faded when he looked at her, she could see that it still lingers behind his eyes. "I'm sorry, Elena. He had no right coming here. He had no business interrupting us, coming unannounced, bothering us at all."

"No, he didn't. But he is gone now." Her voice was soft. Right now, she wanted only to soothe.

Damon ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. He looked so tired, and Elena just wanted to pull him close and hold him. She reached for him and gently took his hand.

"You are tired. Both of us are tired." She gave his hand a tug as she started to turn away. "Come on, you need to sleep."

She led him below deck to the area that served as his office, then started towards the door that led down to the stateroom.

Damon pulled her back. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"About what your father said?"

"Yes," he said. "Maybe you ought to tell me what happened ten years ago."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Don't lie to me, Elena."

Careful, Elena thought. Damon was smart, he was smarter than the average bear. "What are you talking about?"

"I assume you left me because of something happened to your father's campaign," Damon said with grim patience.

She drew in a breath and shook her head. "I don't know," she said. "I'm tired. Maybe I should go home instead."

"Dammit, Elena. I'm trying to help here."

"I don't need your help," she said ungraciously.

"I don't have any idea yet what had happened ten years ago, but I do know that someone was trying to make sure your father believed the Salvatores, Mikaelson and Pastor were against him. Why don't you think about just what that might mean?"

She stared at him, open-mouthed, as the implications finally hit her. Damon had no idea just how terribly ominous the turn of events was.

Of course. The blackmailer had known her family well. He or she knew Grayson would stop her from seeing Damon if her father believed the Salvatores were behind the blackmail.

Someone knew a great deal about both her and Damon.

Elena took a breath. "We are making some huge assumptions here."

He shrugged. "After what happened to us ten years ago, I'm willing to take some very big leaps."

"All right. I will tell you what happened ten years ago but you have to promise not tell anyone."

"Sure."

"Where do you want to start?"

"Why don't you begin by telling me why did you walk away from me?"

She exhaled slowly. "Someone blackmailed my father."

Damon stilled. He realized he had been braced for a completely different kind of admission. He had expected to be told that she had ended their relationship because she was too young at that time and she wasn't ready for commitment. Or she had decided to stay with Matt Donovan who was a safe bet.

The relief that surged through him was totally inappropriate to the situation, he told himself. But it sure felt good.

He did not take his eyes off Elena's face. "Explain."

Elena told him about the blackmail and her father's scam.

"This is for real?"

"You think I would make up something as nasty as this?"

Damon went cold to the bone as he put the rest of the tale together. "Your father thought that we were behind the blackmail." He shut his eyes. "Shit."

"It seemed like a perfectly reasonable assumption at that time because my father was a strong competitor for Pastor Young. Your father and Mikael Mikaelson are friends of Pastor Young, and they are very supportive of his campaign."

He opened his eyes and stared at her. "You and I obviously have two different definitions of the word reasonable. How many people know about your father's scam?"

"Richard, Logan and my father," she said. "John and my mother as well."

"I don't think they are the blackmailers because they are involved in the scam." He forced himself to exert some patience. "This is personal. Blackmail is always personal. If it wasn't personal, there would be no threat. I need to know more about your father's scam."

She frowned warily. "Why do you need to know the details?"

"Because I'm involved in this. If I'm in it, I have a right to all the details."

She contemplated him for a moment. He thought at first that she would continue to be stubborn for a while longer. But she proved to be as smart as he had believed she was.

"Okay." She exhaled slowly. "I guess you have got a point."

"We have to talk to your father."

Elena's eyes widened. "No. No. Absolutely not." Her father would be furious if he knew she told Damon about the scam.

"Hear me out. Your dad set up the whole scam, right? He should face with the consequences…"

"Are you insane?" Elena was aghast. "That would mean me confronting my dad first. You know I don't want to do that."

"We have no choice, baby. Otherwise we would never find out who is the blackmailer."

She shook her head. "No."

"What if the blackmail strikes again?"

"What?"

"He or she might use the blackmail material against your father again."

Elena felt sick. "What...what should we do?"

"The quickest way to end this is to identify the blackmailer."


	23. Chapter 23

Elena watched Damon dunk the last of his biscotti into his coffee. She leaned forward to whisper across the table. "Are you absolutely certain that there is no better way to handle the situation?

"Absolutely certain."

Elena groaned. "Do you really need to confront my dad about this?"

"Yes."

"Okay." Elena watched him intently. "Alright. Tell me what you intend to do."

Damon put his hands around his mug and contemplated his coffee. "I haven't had time to put together a really good plan. But surely between the two of us we should be able to come up with a way to nail him." He paused. "Or her."

"Damon, I'm not sure that is such a good idea."

Damon raised his brows. "What do you suggest we should do? Ignore the fact that someone has tried to blackmail your family?"

Elena said nothing.

"You know as well as I do that your father's approach to this is no different than the way most businesses handle employees who commit fraud or embezzlement. It is all hushed up."

"This is not quite the same thing."

"Yes, it is," he said urgently. "Companies rarely go to the authorities when they suspect embezzlement because they don't want their clients and customers to find out that their internal security was lousy. They prefer to handle the matter privately. Your father wants to deal with this the same way."

"But we haven't received any more blackmail since."

"That's what I find it hard to believe. Blackmail doesn't stop normally. You know what they say about blackmail: It never ends. That is always the way it is with this sort of thing."

"You have a point."

"If the blackmailer is so desperate for money, he or she wouldn't have stopped."

Elena looked thoughtful. "Maybe the blackmailer was desperate for money at that time and the money had solved his or her problem."

He leaned back against the chair, crossed his arms, and rolled his eyes. "I find it hard to believe. Greed is a bottomless pit which exhausts the person in an endless effort to satisfy the need without ever reaching satisfaction."

"Well, yes," Elena admitted uneasily. "That is true."

"How much?"

"What?"

"How much did you father pay?"

"I have no idea," Elena said, thinking it through. "I recalled Dad was very furious one day when he came home. Mum was upset and so was John. They wanted me to stop seeing you because they believed your family was behind the blackmail."

"Did he tell you how much the blackmailer was asking for?"

She shook her head. "Maybe Dad had paid him or her enough."

"Maybe but everyone in town knows your father is rich, so does the blackmailer."

"So, what are you going to do?" Elena asked.

Damon's eyes were hard to read. "I'm going to have a conversation with your father."

Alarm flashed through Elena. She forced herself to remain outwardly calm. "Uh, just how do you plan to go about this conversation? Dad will be furious if he finds out you know about the blackmail."

"I intend to get your parents and John together in one room. Don't worry, I will handle this with some delicacy and tact."

She hesitated. "I'm still not sure that is such a good idea."

"Listen, Elena, I have a feeling that the blackmailer wasn't after money from your father."

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't money the blackmailer was after. He or she wanted your family to hate the Salvatore."

"Oh."

"It is time for us to find out the truth." Damon got to his feet and reached for the jacket he had slung over the back of the chair.

"Wait," Elena said quickly. "Damon, I don't want you to do anything rash."

"Rash? That is funny coming from you." Damon leaned down and kissed her fiercely on her open mouth. When he raised his head, his eyes were gleaming. "Don't you forget that I'm always in control?"

She grabbed his sleeve as he started to move away. "Listen to me, Damon. I don't want you to force a confrontation with my father."

Damon gave her a fleeting smile. "I'm going to have a decent conversation with your father."

Elena jumped to her feet. "If you are going to insist on a confrontation with my family, I'd better come with you."

Damon looked at her. "You don't have to get involved in this."

"But I am involved."

"Listen, Elena. You don't have to get involved. I can deal with it."

Maria appeared at the table with a coffee pot in her hand. "Do you want more coffee, sir?"

Damon glanced at the coffee pot. "No, thanks. I'm in a hurry at the moment."

"What about you, Miss Gilbert?" Maria asked.

"No, thanks," Elena said before turning back to Damon. "Damon, wait…"

Damon ignored her. He went through the door and strode swiftly along the driveway to where his Camaro was parked.

Elena grabbed her coat. "Excuse me, Maria."

"Huh? Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to get in your way." Maria stood aside as Elena slipped past her. "Are you coming back for dinner tonight?"

"Probably not." Elena paused briefly to glance back at Maria. "I'm going to be late tonight."

"Sure."

Elena whirled around, raced through the door and ran towards the Camaro. Damon was already behind the wheel. He switched on the engine just as she reached the car.

Elena yanked open the door and hurtled into the passenger seat.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Damon asked.

"I'm coming with you." Elena buckled her seat belt.

"No, you are not."

"You can't leave me behind." Elena sat back in the seat and locked her door. "If you are going to confront my father about the blackmail, I want to be there."

"You father will be pissed if you are there."

"Do you think I give a damn now?"

Damon chuckled. "Damn."

He snapped the Camaro into gear and pulled out onto the road.

Damon finally spoke again after ten minutes of driving in silence. "This isn't going to be pleasant, Elena."

"I know."

"Seriously, Elena, you don't have to do this."

Elena put her hand on the long, taut muscle of his upper thigh. "You are not going into this alone. I'm stuck to you. And I don't come unstuck very easily."

Damon couldn't think of anything to say to that. She was right, more right than she could possibly know. With every passing day and night, he was increasingly aware of just how much of her had stuck to him, of how much she had become a permanent part of him, a vital, necessary part.

"Right." Damon glanced at her and smiled. "We are stuck together forever."

x x x

For some reason, her parents' house did not look nearly as picturesque and charming to Elena this time. Perhaps it was the grey light filtering through the leaden clouds, which created the sullen atmosphere. Then again, she thought, maybe it was her own uneasy mood that transformed the beautiful house to a scene imbued with brooding menace.

Elena tensed in her seat as Damon turned the Camaro down the long drive that led to her parents' house.

"Are you certain you want to go through with this?" Damon asked.

"I'm certain."

"I warned you this wouldn't be pleasant."

She swallowed. "I know."

She had known all along that she could do nothing to stop what was about to happen. All she could do was be there with him when he ripped apart the fabric of the t past.

The door of the big house opened as Damon brought the Jaguar to a halt and switched off the ignition. The butler came out onto the wide porch. Surprise and pleasure lit his features. He hurried down the steps as Damon and Elena got out of the car.

"Miss Gilbert, what are you doing here? We weren't expecting you." The butler smiled at Elena before turning to face Damon. "Nice to see you again, Mr Salvatore. Are the two of you staying for dinner?"

"No," Elena said. "We won't be staying for dinner."

"Is Mr Gilbert home?" Damon asked.

"He is in the living room with his brother."

"John is here?" Elena gave a quick, anxious glance at Damon. "Where is Mum?"

"She is in the living room too."

"That is excellent," Damon said. "Let's go inside."

"Sure." The butler nodded politely at Damon and then looked at Elena again. "Is something wrong?"

Elena said nothing but huddled deeper into her jacket. The warm lining didn't offer much protection against the chill in the air.

"It is about the past," Damon said. "And the future."

It was worse than Elena had anticipated. The atmosphere in the living room was heavier than the air outside. It held more tension, too. She watched Damon standing in front of the windows. There was so much dangerous energy emanating from him that she half expected a bolt of lightning to explode in his immediate vicinity.

He commanded the attention of everyone in the room. Grayson watched him with narrowed eyes. Miranda, her mouth pinched in a disapproving line, sat primly on the sofa. Her back was as straight as an iron bar and just about as flexible. John sat beside her, his brows knitted in a scowl. He looked angry but wary.

"I think we have had enough dramatics," Grayson said. "Tell us what is going on here."

"I'm here to talk about the past, Mr Gilbert," Damon said before turning back to face Grayson.

Grayson's brows raised. "What the devil is this all about?"

"I'm talking about the blackmail," Damon said. "The blackmail that had forced you to quit your campaign."

Miranda gasped in dismay. Her hand went to her throat. John stared uncomprehendingly at Elena.

Grayson's jaw sagged in stunned amazement. He had to make several attempts before he managed to speak. "I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr Salvatore."

Damon did not take his eyes off Grayson. "Richard Lockwood, Logan Fell and you swindled several hundred thousand dollars ten years ago."

"I don't know what you are talking about," Grayson blustered.

"I believed it was all a fraud, wasn't it?" Damon said. "People signed their money over to you so that you could run your campaign."

"What the hell?" John stared at Elena. "You fool. What do you think you are doing, Elena? How could you betray your family?"

"Oh, my God," Miranda looked faint. "Elena, what did you do?"

"I'm sorry," Elena mumbled. "I want to help Dad…"

"Help? You are not helping your father," John retorted. "You betray your father. You betray your family. The Salvatore is behind the blackmail and you know it."

"That's enough," Damon warned. "Elena did nothing wrong. That's why I'm here today. To tell you that my father had nothing to do with the blackmail."

"Goddamn it," John roared, "do you think we would believe you?"

Grayson shot Elena a speculative glance and then gave Damon a sharp look. "Well? Can you prove what you are saying, Mr Salvatore?"

"My father, Mikael Mikaelson and Pastor Young had nothing to do with the blackmail. They knew nothing about the scam."

"He is lying," John hissed.

"No." Damon's gaze glittered briefly. "I'm not lying. That's the reason why I'm here. I'm here to help you to identify the blackmailer."

Grayson stared at him. "What the hell are you saying?"

"I think we are overlooking one major fact about the blackmail." Elena pointed out gently. "The blackmailer wasn't after money."

Grayson sat for so long a time just looking at her, that she feared he still didn't believe her. Finally, he asked, "What was the blackmailer after?"

Damon looked at Grayson. "How much did you pay the blackmailer for his or her silence?"

Grayson paused and stared blankly for a moment before focusing on Damon. "The blackmailer said that I have to pay for my punishment."

"Did the blackmailer call you?" Damon asked.

Grayson shook his head. "I received a note in my office. It was a computer-generated message. I couldn't grasp the meaning initially but eventually it hit me. The blackmailer knew about the scam."

Damon beetled his brows. "You assumed my father was behind the blackmailer immediately?"

Getting test, Grayson said. "Yes. The Salvatore and the Mikaelson are well known to be slick and dangerous in town…"

Damon's jaw was rigid. "And they were supporting Pastor Young's campaign at that time. So, you assumed they would do anything to help Pastor to win the campaign."

"Well, yes," Grayson said roughly. "I was a threat to Pastor. I would have made a great governor."

Elena looked at her father. "Did you pay the blackmailer in the end?"

"No."

Elena tilted her head to one side and considered that. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," Grayson insisted. "I decided to quit the campaign in the end. Richard and Logan were scared because of the blackmail, and we had decided to put a stop to what we were doing."

Damon absorbed the implications of Grayson's words. "You hadn't received anymore notes from the blackmailer?"

Grayson shook his head. "No."

A quiet rage unfurled inside Damon. He clenched his fists at his sides, trying to control himself. "The blackmailer wanted you to believe The Salvatore was behind the blackmail. He or she wanted plain, old-fashioned revenge."

"What the hell do you mean by that?"

"The blackmailer wanted you to resent the Salvatore," Damon explained. "And when the blackmailer found out your scam, he or she jumped at the opportunity to avenge on my family."

Elena looked at him with a small frown. "The blackmailer doesn't like your family."

Damon laughed softly. "Nobody does."

There was a short silence. And then Damon spoke again. "Mr Grayson, there is something I need to ask you."

"About what?"

"Beside Richard and Logan," Damon said. "who else knew about the scam?"

Grayson's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I was the first who broach the idea. John and Miranda were good at hosting parties and putting people at ease. Richard and Logan were working for me."

Elena closed her eyes. "Jesus Christ."

"I'm sorry, darling," Miranda said quietly. "Your father needed the money."

"Politics is expensive, Elena." Grayson rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I didn't have any choice."

"You always have a choice," Elena said angrily. "You will end up in prison if the authorities know about the scam."

"That's enough, Elena," Damon said firmly. "What's past is past. Right now, we have to make sure the blackmailer isn't going to strike again."

Grayson went still. "What? What are you talking about?"

Elena noticed John and Miranda looked stunned by Damon's words.

"But we haven't received any more blackmail," John stuttered.

"Blackmail is always a personal matter," Damon explained. "It never ends."

"I don't believe this," Grayson whispered. "What are we supposed to do?"

"First, we need a list," Damon said.

"A list of what, for heaven's sake?"

"A list of people who were involved in the scam."

"I have told you everything," Grayson snapped back. "What else do you want to know?"

"I need every detail if you want my help," Damon said.

"For goodness sake…" Grayson broke off suddenly and then muttered, "son of a bitch."

"I have been called worse names." Damon smiled wearily.

"I have just remembered something," Grayson said. "We have forgotten about someone very important."

x x x

Damon did not speak until they had almost reached her house.

"How well do you know Pete Donovan?" he asked without any preamble.

The question took Elena by surprise.

"Pete Donovan?" She turned to face him. "Pete used to work for my father at the Gilbert International. He is a charted accountant. He started his own business when I was in high school."

"Your family is pretty close with the Donovan?"

"Matt and I grew up together. We have been friends since first grade." She paused. "We…we dated for a while before you and I were together."

"You told me that Matt warned you about me."

"Yes, he asked me to stay away from you. Not only you, Klaus and Alaric as well."

"I bet he held a grudge against me when you broke up with him," Damon said.

She shrugged. "I explained to him that we wouldn't work and I didn't want to go to UCLA."

"Maybe he figured a way to get back at me."

"Get back at you?" Then it hit her. "Good grief. You don't really think Matt would try to…to blackmail my father…but…"

"It is a possibility."

"But how did he know about the scam?"

"Pete Donovan was helping your father with the money," Damon said. "He could have figured it out."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes."

She mulled over the possibilities. "If Matt knew about the scam, he would know his father was involved. So why would he blackmail my father? Surely he would know his father couldn't run away from lawsuit if the scam is exposed."

"Why? He wasn't after money. He wasn't trying to frighten your father. He was trying to avenge on me."

"It doesn't make sense…" She trailed off, trying to sort out the logic. "I don't believe Matt would do something like that."

"He resented me, Elena. He knew your father doesn't like my family. He knew your father would want you to end our relationship if your father believed my family was behind the blackmail."

She groaned. "Jesus, I can't believe this."

Damon tightened his grip on the wheel. "It did work, didn't it? Matt's plan had worked successfully. He broke us."

"Great." She sighed and leaned back onto the seat. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"I think," Damon said, "that we should have a conversation with Matt Donovan."

The Donovan's resident was typical of many residential houses in Mystic Falls. Damon brought the Camaro to a halt at the far end of the driveway and studied the sedan parked in front.

"Looks like Donovan is home."

Elena looked at him. Tension angled her shoulders. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes."

"If you are wrong, this could be a little hard to explain," she said.

"I told you to let me handle this on my own."

"I can't do that and you know it."

Damon's lifted his brow. "Do you still have feelings for him?"

She hadn't even expected that. It took her aback and left her momentarily speechless.

"You still care for him."

"No."

"No?"

"Matt and I have been friends for many years. You have to understand…"

"Well, I don't."

"I'm trying to tell you," she snapped.

He said nothing else. However, his steely gaze was unnerving. Elena took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I mean it when I told Matt that we wouldn't work. He didn't know what I want and what I need."

"Well, Donovan obviously didn't do anything to inspire your love and admiration." He ended by grumbling. "I don't like him."

She laughed softly. "He doesn't like you, either."

"Nobody does."

"I do."

His mouth start to curve in a pleased smile. "I'm glad you like me. But we need to deal with this right now."

"Damon, he is my problem…"

"Correction." He cracked open the door and got out. "He is our problem."

He closed the door before she could argue.

She emerged from the Camaro without another word. Together they walked to Donovan's house.

Damon knocked twice. Matt opened the door after a short moment. He wore grey trousers and a blue sweater. He looked surprised to see them standing outside his house.

"What are you two doing here?" Matt asked.

Elena looked at him unhappily. "We came to talk to you, Matt."

Matt glanced at Damon. "I'm a little busy, Elena."

"This can't wait." Damon moved past him and entered the house. "It is important."

"What is it?" Matt asked as he held the door opened for Elena. "You can call me instead."

Elena entered the house wearily. "It is too involved to explain over the phone."

Matt eyed Damon with caution. "Why is he here, Elena?"

"Are you afraid of me, Donovan?" Damon took a step closer to Matt. "What have you done? You want to plea for guilty?"

"Save your pathetic little jokes for someone else." Raw anger sharpened the lines of Matt's face. "I don't have time for your crude humour."

Elena watched Matt closely. "You are still upset about our break up, aren't you?"

Matt's expression tightened. "I don't have time for this. Why are the two of you here?"

Elena drew a deep breath. "You were the one who tried to blackmail my father all those years ago?"

Matt's face was suffused with an angry red colour. "How dare you imply that I would do something like that?" He was furious now. "I thought I'm your friend, Elena."

"You are my friend and that's why I'm here today," Elena explained. "I want to figure out what had happened."

Matt paid no attention to her. "Just tell me what you want, Salvatore."

"What we want," Damon said evenly, "are some answers."

Matt's brows came together in a puzzled scowl. "Answers to what?"

"Did you know that your father was involved in a scam ten years ago?"

For an instant Matt appeared frozen in place. Then he turned away from them. "I have no idea what are you talking about."

"Your father helped Grayson Gilbert, Richard Lockwood and Logan Fell swindled hundred thousand dollars," Damon said. "He was the accountant who dealt with the money."

"Are you out of your mind?" Matt hissed. "Why would my father do such a thing?"

"Because of money," Damon said. "You can save the act. It is good but it is not that good."

Matt's face worked furiously. "My father wouldn't do such a thing."

"You found out about the scam," Damon said. "You blackmailed Grayson and made him believed my family was behind it. You couldn't resist the opportunity to avenge on me, could you?"

Matt swung around to face him. "Stop it. Both of you. You can't make false accusations like this. You can't prove a damn thing."

"You are right about not being able to prove anything," Damon said.

Matt settled himself, relieved. "I knew it."

"That is why we came here instead of going to the cops. Of course, if we go to the cops, everyone involved in the scam will be exposed, including your father."

Shock flashed on Matt's face. "You won't do that."

"No, I won't," Damon said. "Because if I go to the cops, Elena's family will be ruined."

"You blamed Damon for our break up." Elena thought quickly. "You had to punish him."

There was a brief silence.

"Yes," Matt said eventually.

Elena was aghast. "Why?"

"Because he was a Salvatore," Matt said with a grim laugh. "Damn family is so proud it makes me sick. The Salvatores think they are more important than the rest of us. You think you can have anything you want just for the taking."

"You wanted Elena," Damon said softly. "But you couldn't have her."

Matt flinched as if he had been struck. "She was supposed to be mine." He blinked several times. "You stole her from me."

"Listen to me, Matt," Elena said desperately, "you and I wouldn't work out. I treat you like a friend…"

"But I care so much about you," Matt said fiercely. "We would be good together. You didn't see it because of him. He seduced you!"

"I care about you too, Matt," Elena said. "But there is only friendship between us. Don't you get it?"

"Damn it, you can't do this to me."

Without warning, Matt flung himself at Damon.

"Matt, no," Elena called. "Stop. This won't solve anything."

But Matt was beyond reason. Damon managed to sidestep the initial charge but Matt wheeled with startling speed and came at him again. This time Damon found himself trapped in the corner, the television set on one side, a lamp on the other.

He took the only way out, going low to duck Matt's swinging fist. Matt's hand struck the wall where Damon had been standing a second earlier. A shuddering jolt went through him. Damon heard him suck in an anguished breath.

He caught Matt by the legs and shoved hard. The momentum toppled both of them to the rug. They went down with a stunning thud, Matt on the bottom. He struggled wildly, fighting back with a reckless fury, completely out of control. He hammered the floor with his heels and managed to slam a fist into Damon's ribs. He twisted violently, trying to lurch free.

Damon finally pinned him to the rug, using his weight to force him to lie still.

Trapped, Matt stared up at him. Damon felt him go limp as the hurricane of violence dissipated as suddenly as it had appeared.

"I don't want to hurt you or your family, Elena. Do you understand?" Matt's voice was ragged. "I care so much about you. Why doesn't anything ever go right for me?"


	24. Chapter 24

"I have been thinking," Elena said the following evening as she went about preparing dinner. "Matt is probably the one who spread the rumours about my father and you when you first joined the project. Matt's sister Vicky is a reporter in Richmond."

"You are probably right." Damon concentrated on the bottle of wine he was in the process of opening. "It was probably Matt. He cares too much about you and he doesn't understand you didn't love him."

"It is my fault. I felt sorry for stringing Matt along. I should have figured out what I wanted and just been honest about it." Elena selected a knife from the kitchen drawer and went to work on a pile of vegetables for the curry dish she had planned.

The rice was cooking in the steamer, and a row of small condiment bowls containing chopped peanuts, raisins, chutney, chives, candied ginger, and coconut sat ready on the counter. Damon had stopped at a wine shop to select a couple of bottles of expensive chardonnay before they drove back to Elena's house.

Damon was in his full stoic mode, acting as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. He was calm, cool, and in control, as usual.

"What are you going to do?" Elena asked as she attacked a potato with her knife. "About the blackmail, I mean."

"Don't worry. I'm not going to do a damn thing. I told you, all we wanted was the truth. It stops here. Matt won't make another move because his father is involved in the scam."

Elena looked up as Damon poured the wine into two glasses. His face was carved in stone, his eyes unreadable. But she knew that she had his word that he wouldn't do anything further.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I'm sure Mum and Dad will be happy with the end result."

"You have my word," Damon said. "The Dunham Lake resort couldn't survive that kind of scandal at this stage. Things are too delicate."

Elena stopped chopping vegetables. "I know."

Damon picked up his wineglass and looked at her. "I will help you to build the resort. Everything is going to be fine."

The sound of an engine in the driveway stopped Elena from responding. Her eyes locked with Damon.

"Who would it be?" She flung down the towel. "I have asked Maria to take the day off."

"Maybe blondie has decided to visit you," Damon said dryly.

"I'm having lunch with Caroline tomorrow," she said as she walks towards the door.

A blast of cold air hit her like a wave as she stepped out onto the front porch. The glare of headlights blinded her. She put up a hand to shield her eyes so that she could see who was getting out of the car.

Damon emerged from the house and casually put one hand on her shoulder.

The car door on the passenger side slammed shut with an air of decisive finality. A tall, broad-shouldered figure stalked forwards to stand silhouetted in the lights. It was impossible to see his face against the blinding glare, but Elena had no doubts as to the visitor's identity.

"Dad," she said as she went down the steps. "What are you doing here?"

"Am I interrupting anything?" Grayson asked politely.

Elena shrugged. "Not really. We are just preparing for dinner."

"It is a little chilly out there," Damon said. "Why don't you both come inside? I bought some great chardonnay."

"I will be back later, Mr Gilbert," the driver called out as he gunned the engine and started to back the car out of the drive.

"More curry, Dad?" Elena asked an hour later. She passed a large ceramic bowl across the table to Grayson.

"I prefer the salad." He gripped the bowl in one hand and served himself a large helping of Elena's dill-and-yogurt-laced cucumber salad. "This is delicious. When did you learn how to cook, darling?"

"I spent a lot of time fooling around in the kitchen with Maria," Elena explained. "I find cooking quite enjoyable."

"Your daughter is an amazing cook." Damon dipped the edge of a wedge of sourdough bread into the fragrant curried potato stew on his plate. "Her pasta and spaghetti are delicious too."

"Really?" Grayson chuckled. "Your mother can hardly cook. She nearly burnt down the kitchen once when we first got married."

Elena grinned. "I learn a few tricks from Caroline's mum too. She is a great cook."

Grayson looked intrigued. "Who would have guessed the sheriff is handy in the kitchen?"

"Caroline said that her mum doesn't want her to get addicted to pizza or hamburgers when she was growing up." She added some of her homemade tomato chutney to her curry. "Her mum has quite a collection of cookbooks."

"Do you like to cook?" Grayson looked at Damon. "I mean, something more than just slicing bread and sticking take-out in a microwave?"

Damon took a sip of his wine. "The best I can do is to throw a steak on the grill. I'm no gourmet chef like Elena. What about you?"

"Few people can cook as well as Elena, but I can find my way around a kitchen," Grayson said.

"You are right. Your daughter is an unusual young woman." A heady rush of emotion filled Damon as he looked at Elena.

She smiled back at him and jumped to her feet. "Ready for dessert? I hope everyone likes chocolate parfait."

"Fine with me," Grayson said.

Damon chuckled. "Don't you know that I'm a chocoholic?"

"Well, then, I will get the dessert."

Damon was still smiling to himself when he turned his head and saw Grayson regarding him with a peculiar expression.

"You really like her, don't you?" Grayson said as Damon filled his glass with more chardonnay. "But promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"Make sure she won't get hurt by anybody."

Damon thought about Matt's blackmail. "Don't worry. I think I can promise you that there won't be any more blackmail."

"Elena is right. I did have a choice," Grayson said grimly. "What I did was wrong. I guess I was lost at that time. All I could think about was to win the campaign."

"Nobody is perfect," Damon said. "Everyone has made a mistake in his or her life."

"Thank you," Grayson said. "Thank you for getting us out of this mess."

Damon took a swallow of the chardonnay. "You are welcome, but my motive was a selfish one, too. I don't want to lose Elena again. I need her in my life."

"She needs you as well," Grayson said gently. "Both of you definitely make an interesting couple, all right."

x x x

Jules, the bartender at the Mystic Grill, slid two glasses of orange juices in front of Elena and Caroline. "Anything else, girls?"

"Thanks, no. We are good."

Jules smiled and nodded. "Well, if you change your mind," she offered, before moving on to take care of a couple sitting close together at the far end of the long, polished granite bar.

"How is the resort going?" Caroline asked as she took a sip of her drink.

"So far so good." Elena looked at the leather bound menu. "The specialty today is French-dip sandwiches—is that all right with you?"

Caroline shrugged. "I don't mind. I will have whatever you are having."

Elena lifted her finger to signal Jules and she appeared in front of them a moment later. "We will have the special, Jules," Elena said.

"Do you girls want some dessert?" Jules asked. "We have rice pudding and hot fudge sundae today."

"No, thanks," Elena said before she turned to look at Caroline. "You can have whatever you like. I'm buying."

"A latte will be fine," Caroline said.

"Sure." Jules smiled at them. "It won't be long."

There was a short silence before Caroline spoke again.

"The social media is still talking about Damon and Pastor, isn't it?" She must decide it was too intense a question to start out with, although, because before Elena had times to even think how to answer that, she said with a frown. "Are you okay? The bloom must be fading. I don't think you got laid this morning."

Elena actually choked on her drink, and she laughed.

"This is not funny," Elena exclaimed.

Caroline grinned. "So you didn't get laid this morning, did you?"

"Actually," Elena said. "You are right." She grinned wickedly. "But last night was exceptional."

"No, no, no, no," Caroline said. "Do not even go there, girl."

Elena debated silence for a moment, but she just can't deny the truth. "Sorry," she said with a grin. "Honestly, Damon is just so…"

Caroline groaned as if in pain. 'Oh, hell!"

"Fine," Elena said. "How is your love life?"

"Klaus is an ass but he is pretty adorable most of the time."

Elena laughed. A genuine laugh, which reminded her why she loved Caroline.

"Klaus is a great guy," Elena admitted. "You two look great together."

"Everything is perfect," Caroline said. "I'm in that lovey-dovey floaty place." She released an exaggerated sigh and then patted her hand rapidly over her heart. "I'm all pitty-pat and gooey and sweet. It is disgusting, really. On anyone else, I would want to smack them for being a walking case of sugar shock. But I'm just giddily floating along."

Elena leaned over to shoulder-butt her best friend. "I'm happy for you."

Jules put two plates down on the red-checked tablecloth, each containing a crusty loaf of French bread that had been sliced lengthwise and piled high with wafer-thin rare roast beef. Beside each plate, she placed a little bowl of beef juice. "It's delicious—try it," she urged.

Elena tasted hers and agreed. "It is wonderful."

"It is delicious," Caroline said as she took a bite.

They ate their meal in companionable silence interspersed with Caroline's questions about the progress of Dunham Lake resort and her relationship with Damon.

"If it is serious between you and Damon, and if you are thinking that he is your guy and maybe there is marriage down the line…" Caroline cut herself off. "You know what? Never mind."

Elena knew she should just drop it, but she didn't. "You really think what?"

"I just think – you know. You should talk to Damon."

"About what?"

"About getting married."

"For your information, the subject of marriage has never come up between Damon and me," Elena admitted. On the whole, her romance with Damon was not as smooth as she had wanted. Every time they took a step forward in their relationship, they were slapped back. Damon's biological father. Marko's assault. Rose's appearance. Matt's blackmail. And what really scared Elena was the pattern. Because if the good was always followed by the bad, then didn't that mean that she would inevitably lose Damon?

Caroline was watching her closely. "You are scared."

Elena frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

"You are serious about him but you are afraid to commit," Caroline said. "I mean, he loves you. Sometimes you have to take the risk, Elena."

Elena licked her lips. "I know but…"

Caroline narrowed her eyes. "Don't tell me you have some sort of phobias about marriage."

"Phobia?" Elena's voice rose to a shrill squeak. "You think I'm afraid of marriage?"

"Right." Caroline sounded pleased that she had grasped the point so readily. "The way some folks are scared of spiders or snakes."

"This is crazy."

"I can sort of see how it happened," Caroline continued earnestly. "Things between both of you ended badly a few years back. And you two didn't have a good start as well. You are probably scared that the two of you might have a bad ending."

Elena couldn't argue about what Caroline had said. Damon was tough, sexy, and intensely loyal, yet his secrets were dark and his scars ran deep. Not many women could handle his past, or the truth behind his fierce demands.

"What is passion without a little risk?" Caroline added.

Elena lifted a shoulder. "Maybe you are right. I don't know. It scares the crap out of me because I don't want to lose Damon again."

"I know it does." Caroline put an arm around her and squeezed. "But it is going to be fine. You and Damon will be fine."

Caroline's phone beeped before she could say further. Caroline glanced at the screen and frowned. "What the hell?"

Elena's eyes widened. "Trouble?"

"Yes." Caroline was already on her feet. "Marko White and Robert Reed are being arrested for making porn movies on underage girls."

"Really?" Elena was both surprised and concerned. If they were caught, then the movie would not be made. But what if the social media continued to dig further and expose Rose's past?

"Elena," Caroline said quietly. "I have some bad news."

Elena went still. "What happened?"

"Klaus and Damon are at the police station now."

x x x

As police stations went, it probably didn't get much better than the Mystic Falls Police Department. Elena was no expert, but she had watched enough cop shows to know that most police stations sport walls with dull grey paint that probably used to be white, Plexiglas barriers that were so clouded they were no longer transparent, and lots and lots of faded, crumpled notices tacked to walls.

Not so this station. Elena was sitting on a polished wooden bench in a long hallway. It was not travertine tile, but the flooring was clean and polished. For that matter, everything was clean and shiny, from the building to the people who worked here. And right now, Elena was focusing way, way too much on all of it. Because if she spent her time noticing the way the light from the window made a geometric pattern when it hit the opposite wall, then maybe she wouldn't completely freak out about the fact that Damon and Klaus had been in an interview room with two detectives for almost an hour.

Elena knew that Damon and Klaus wouldn't be saying anything except, "On the advice of my attorney, I refuse to answer," yada yada yada. But what if they arrested them? What if they found out their dark secrets?

What if today was the day that she would lost him?

Oh, god.

She didn't want to lose Damon. She couldn't live without him.

Breathed. Just breathed.

Elena did, and that was her mantra for about ten minutes—just breathed. But as each minute ticked by, her fear was increasing, too. She glanced automatically toward the doors through which she expected Damon to emerge. He was not there, of course.

"I'm starting to really get scared." Her words were so soft that she was not even sure that Caroline who was sitting beside her heard them.

"I know." Caroline hooked an arm around her shoulders and Elena leaned against her. "They will be fine. Everything will be fine. Alaric will…"

She didn't finish the sentence because the door opened at the end of the hall. For the flash of an instant, Elena's imagination ran wild, and she pictured Damon in an orange jumpsuit, his wrists bounded in cuffs.

The image was so vibrant, so horrible, that it propelled her to her feet. And when Elena really did see him—unfettered and striding towards her with his usual confident air—she couldn't help herself. She raced to him and launched herself into his outstretched arms.

"You are here," he says as Alaric moved away towards Caroline to give them privacy.

"Of course I am."

Her legs were wrapped around his hips and Damon was holding her up by the waist. Now, he released her, and Elena slid down his body, relishing the sensation of being with him. Of being able to touch him. Of the world having righted itself.

When her feet were on the floor, Elena hooked her arms around his neck and Damon bent forward, his forehead pressed to hers.

"How was it?"

"I'm not in a cell. I'm counting it as a win."

Elena frowned. "Don't joke about that."

"Sweetheart," Damon said, "I'm not joking."

She looked at his face—at the tension there, at the exhaustion. And worry swirled in her gut. "Oh, god. What do they know?"

"Nothing," Alaric spoke before Damon could answer. "Marko has been luring girls in and forcing them into prostitution for many years. We learned about it and have been running interference, bringing the girls into our clubs, giving them legitimate jobs. We are doing nothing illegal, at least not on that front. But we have pissed off the ring."

Elena exhaled slowly. "Marko is the ring."

Damon nodded. "Marko is one of their flunkies. And now he and Reed are using underage girls for their porn movies."

"The local authorities have nothing on us," Klaus said as he strode towards Caroline and put his arm around her shoulder. "Nothing is going to happen to us or the Destiny."

Caroline looked relieved. "Thank God."

Damon tilted Elena's chin up with the tip of his finger. "Nothing is going to happen to me. Don't worry, okay?"

Elena tried to ward off the chill as she nodded. Both Klaus and Damon were smart. Smart enough to push the envelopes. Smart enough to bend the rules. And definitely smart enough to break a few without being caught.

Damon's hands twined with her hand. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm a free man right now. Let's celebrate that, okay?"

Elena managed a smile.

Caroline grinned. "That sounds like a great idea. We should definitely celebrate."

"I'm glad you are here," Damon told Elena again. "I can't tell you how glad I'm to see you here."

"I will always be there for you," Elena whispered.

x x x

"I brought you something," Damon said, then pulled a small box out of his jacket pocket. They had drove to his houseboat late that night after spending almost three hours having dinner with Caroline, Klaus and Alaric. They had a great time. They laughed too hard and drank too much.

"You bought me another present?" Elena giggled.

Out of reflex, she reached for it, only to be stymied when Damon pulled it back. "It is contingent," he said.

"On what?"

"On you agreeing to my proposition."

Damon's statement captured her attention, making her suddenly and unreasonably afraid. "Proposition? What proposition?"

"I want you, Elena. And we both know that I get what I want."

Elena swallowed hard. "I know."

"I already told you before. My past is ugly. I have cleaned up my various businesses since I came back here. Klaus is doing the same for Caroline. I don't think there is a stitch of evidence for the local authorities to latch onto. But that doesn't change the fact that I have done things. Things the local authorities can jump all over. They might not be able to make it stick, but they can still make life miserable for us."

He took her hand and raised her fingertips to his lips. "In other words, as long as the local authorities are determined to poke around, I'm still not a safe bet."

Elena looked at him, thinking of the way he made her feel. Of her mother's regret.

Most of all, she thought about what she wanted.

And what she wanted was this man.

"Do you think it scares me?" Elena asked. "You should know me better by now. I know you have secrets and some people think you are dangerous. But I don't care. And I have never felt safer than when I am with you."

"Good," he said, looking both relieved and nervous. "I needed to make sure you understood that before—"

Elena cocked her head, confused by the way he suddenly broke off his words. "Before what?"

"Before I ask you to marry me," he said as he opened the small box and pulled out a ring.

"Damon!"

Elena looked at the ring, and then looked at the man she loved. The man who knew her so intimately and loved her so completely.

"I love you, Elena Gilbert," Damon said. "I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?"

How could she say no to that?

Elena couldn't.

And so she did what she had to do. She threw herself in his arms and kissed him.

When she broke the kiss, Damon smiled down at her.

"Is that a yes?"

"Yes," Elena said, her heart full to bursting. "It is."

She kissed him again, and this time the kiss was deep and long. A kiss celebrating their love. A kiss that held the past and the promise of the future.

A kiss that stole her breath and made her knees go weak.


	25. Epilogue

Elena stood with Damon beside her and the world that they had built rising up behind them, fresh and clean and so intertwined with the landscape that it was hard to believe that the buildings didn't burst up with the formation of the lake.

Everything was ready. The guest rooms were primped and polished and made up with fresh linens. The restaurants were stocked. The gift stores overflew with merchandise. The pools sparkled. Not a detail had been spared, and every magazine and newspaper and blog that had covered the resort has called it one of Gilbert Real Estate Development's crowning achievements.

The guest list was already overflowing, and they were booked up for the next two years.

Today was the official opening of the resort. The lake was bustling with administration, maintenance, and service staff days before the official opening. Most had moved permanently to their quarters on the lake, but today there were about a dozen more people on the island who did not live here full-time.

The resort was designed so that a dozen bungalows on the north side of the lake were actually for sale. And John and Grayson gave them one for their wedding gift three weeks ago. Elena had worn a pair of white-lace thong panties under her ivory satin wedding gown. Damon still shivered whenever he remembered their wedding night.

Grayson stood with Giuseppe and Pastor near the Dunham Lake. Each of them held a glass of champagne in one hand. From their vantage point they had a clear view of the newlyweds, who were dutifully working their way through a seemingly endless reception line for the official opening day.

The entire town of Mystic Falls, from the mayor and his likely successor and his wife to the sheriff, and the Mikaelson family, had turned out for the official opening of the resort.

"Knew all along Damon belonged here with us," Giuseppe said.

"You won't get any argument from me." Grayson smiled to himself at the sight of Damon standing so close to Elena, one arm wrapped protectively and possessively around her waist, the other outstretched to shake hands with the guests. "I got to say Damon is a hell of a great architect."

"First class all the way, too. Lot of people here tonight wouldn't have noticed or cared if we had served cheap champagne and second-rate food. The resort itself is stunning enough to take everyone's breath away," Grayson said.

"He is a smart man," Pastor said. "And very talented as well. He didn't do this because of his relationship with Elena. He did it because he is really committed to his job."

Grayson took a sip of his champagne. "I will buy that."

Giuseppe glanced at the couple. "Do you think we are going to have more family on the way. A grandkid would be fun."

"Yeah?" Grayson followed his gaze and grinned. "Grandkid sounds like a good idea. You think we are going to have one or more."

Pastor nodded as he grinned. "The more the merrier."

"You know something," Grayson said, "it wasn't always easy, but in the end, we did okay, the three of us."

"We did just fine," Giuseppe agreed. "We hung on until dawn."

Elena looked across the crowded room to where Grayson and Giuseppe stood with Pastor, talking to some guests. "You know," she said, "I think Pastor actually looks healthy than he did."

Damon followed her gaze, amused. "Probably because he doesn't have any more worries," he said. "I hear stress can really make your health go downhill."

"I thought he looked pleased when he came to our wedding, but tonight he seems even happier."

Damon smirked. "That is because my beautiful wife has invited him to attend the official opening. You have tried very hard, haven't you?"

Elena pretended not to understand what he was saying. "Tried hard? What?"

"You want your father to get along with Dad and Pastor."

"We are family now. I want everyone to be happy."

Damon smiled at her. "You did make everyone happy, especially me."

Joy, bright and full of promise, flooded through Elena. Damon tugged her closer, his arm around her waist.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm thinking that this is how it feels to have a family. That with a love like ours and a family like this, we can handle whatever comes along in the future."

He smiled, looking satisfied and certain. "Our life is just beginning. And it will be spectacular."

"I was just thinking the very same thing."

THE END


End file.
